Roots
by Kovitlac
Summary: A young Yusuf Tazim grows up and finds his place amongst the Assassins of Constantinople. UNFINISHED. Pre/During ACR. Please R/R
1. Roots Ch 1  Beginnings

**Bursa**

**1473**

The other boys may have made fun of him, due to his lack of having a father. It wasn't something you talked about with others; in fact, his mother was often scorned for presumably carrying and giving birth to an illegitimate child. But six-year-old Yusuf Tazim knew he was a boy meant for greater things… He often spent hours dreaming of the heroic adventures his father, whom he had never known, had undoubtedly experienced. And despite her few friends and neighbors strongly stressing otherwise, his mother, Ceren Tazim, encouraged these thoughts and ideas; these throes of imagination. She would often take her young son into her arms before bed, and shared with him tales of her own. His father had been a brave man, never one to back down from a fight, but rarely a person to start one. She told him his father had been tall and impressive, with dark, meaningful eyes and skin a beautiful olive brown. He commanded an army of ten-thousand eagles, which at his word would swoop down from the sky in droves, destroying their enemies, the oppressors of the people. But he was not a figure to be feared, _sevgili oğlum_, his mother would remind him. For he fought to free these people. But because the leaders of the people he fought to protect feared him so, that is why he is no longer with us today.

Yusuf would sleep contently those nights, dreaming of his father, a fierce but noble entity with the sharp, watchful eyes of an eagle, and hands resembling talons. He wore robes made of fine dyed wool. And he flew across the sky, leaving trails of fire in his wake.

Ceren smiled and gently stroked her son's soft, black curls as he slept. "Dream sweetly, my son." She murmured. "Dream of your father, the Assassin."

**1484**

**Kostantiniyye**

"Thief! _Yakalayın!_ Catch the thief!" An enraged yell sounded in the bazaar, catching the undivided attention of everyone in the vicinity. Yusuf grinned and clutched his newly found prize – a finely woven satchel – tightly in his grip as he zig-zagged through the crowded marketplace. Behind him the shouts of alarm increased in fury and pitch, soon joined by one or two of the young thief's other victims. His grin abruptly disappeared, however, when a strong hand reached down and grabbed the boy by the back of his neck, forcing him up.

"Is this the _meretz hırsız_?" A powerful, heavy-set man with a booming voice called out. Yusuf grit his teeth, feet kicking wildly against the dirt-covered floor.

"_Bırak beni!_ Let go!" The man broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Oh, listen to how the child howls!" He grinned wildly, giving the boy a hearty shake. "What are you – thirteen? Where is your father?" he demanded to know. Yusuf curled his lip, hands forming into tight fists.

"I am seventeen! Let go!"

"Seventeen?" He arched his brow, smirking. "A bit on the scrawny side, _evet?_ But old enough to be treated as a man." He tightened his grip on the teenager's neck, causing Yusuf to grimace.

"_Desturun!_ Here is your thief!" He announced, holding up the boy as if he were a fish to be haggled over. Yusuf would have none of it. He coiled his legs, and then kicked out at the man's grotesquely large stomach. The man cut off in mid-yell, doubling over. Yusuf grabbed the his arm and bit down. Hard. Suddenly finding himself free, and amidst the pained howls of his former captor, Yusuf made his panicked escape from the bazaar.

Mere minutes later he lay on the low roof of the marketplace, exhausted and panting. He closed his eyes tightly, still gripping the small satchel in his fist. He waited for the blood to stop rushing in his head before slowly rolling over onto his side. He tugged the drawstrings open on the bag and flipped it open, dumping out the contents.

Yusuf's face fell as he stared dejectedly at the two small silver coins that dropped out. He picked them up in one hand. The street-toughened teenager wanted to cry. These wouldn't have paid for the cheap satchel itself, much less any food for him that night. Yusuf swallowed hard, feeling his narrow stomach rumble in protest.

He'd have to steal another four purses to make up for such a disappointing turn-out. But right then, Yusuf only wanted to lie still and let himself sleep. It was a warm night, and he was unlikely to be disturbed, lying there on the roof. Besides, something about it just felt…right. _Gibi amacının_, as his mother used to tell him. Yusuf sighed and stared up at the slowly darkening sky. Eventually his eyes closed, and the gentle rumbling of his stomach lulled the hungry boy to sleep.

He wasn't entirely sure what time it was, but it was pitch black when Yusuf awoke, his head filled with images of his mother. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, anxious to get the troubled images from his mind.

"You were dreaming of your mother."

Yusuf jerked and sat up, eyes wide. He reeled away from the stranger – a towering man covered head-to-toe in olive green and blue armor. A dark hood covered his eyes.

"_Ne yapıyorsun bulunduðunuz?_ Who are you?" He demanded, heart racing. The stranger regarded him with only the slightest hint of amusement.

"You were dreaming of your mother." He repeated. His voice sounded heavy. "Allah bless her soul… She did her best." Yusuf stared at the stranger in shock.

"You don't know my mother."

"_Evet._ I did. And dare I say, your father as well." Yusuf stumbled to his feet, glaring at the stranger in fury.

"You mock me as well? And to think I left Bursa to escape from me and my mother's shame!" He spat at the stranger, quick to emphasize his anger. In one sudden movement, the man grabbed Yusuf by the forearm, his fingers digging tightly into flesh. The petty thief let out a yell of surprise and moved to strike the man with his free hand. But the stranger moved in the blink of an eye, extending a strange metal hook out from his wrist and swiping the startled boy off his feet. Yusuf landed hard on his back. Before he could blink, there was a heavy knee digging into his chest, and a sharpened blade at his throat.

Yusuf didn't dare breathe. He barely could even if he wanted to. He stared eye-to-eye with his sub doer. The stranger looked down at him in something akin to disdain. Then the look melted into that of one a little less harsh.

"_Yusuf Tazim…_" He spoke finally, after a long pause. His voice was firm, but held no anger. "I did know your father. His name was Gökhan Tazim. He married your mother, Ceren, when he was all but nineteen." Yusuf opened his mouth to speak, but the man abruptly cut him off.

"I know you longer believe the stories she told you, Yusuf. But your father was indeed an Assassin. Just as your mother told you."

"He was not- "

"You often dreamed of eagles, didn't you?" The question caught the young thief so off guard he could only lie there with his mouth open. The stranger took that as an opportunity to continue.

"Of eagles. Of men in long robes and hoods. Soaring through the air." As he spoke he eased his knee out of the teenager's chest. Yusuf felt a thin whine escape his lips before he could stop it. The blade finally retracted, and Yusuf dared himself to start breathing normally once again.

The man straightened up and continued, pacing slowly. "There is a reason you find the rooftops to hold comfort, Yusuf." He spoke softly now. "Your father did as well. As do all of those in our Order."

"Order?..." Yusuf climbed carefully to his feet, wearily eyeing the stranger. He kept his distance, though. "You mean some sort of cult." To his surprise, the stranger actually chuckled.

"It would be, if we all shared the same religious views. Our Order is made up of all different kinds of people, with all different kinds of backgrounds. But we share only one Creed." He regarded the younger man seriously.

"Nothing is True. Everything- "

"Is Permitted." Yusuf finished, looking surprised even at himself. The stranger blinked, then relaxed into a smile.

"_Evet_… Your mother did tell you." Yusuf nodded slowly, looking mystified.

"_Anlamadığım_… I don't…" The stranger tilted his head, standing tall.

"I am Ishak Pasha." He said proudly. "Father and Mentor to the _Düzeninin Suikastçiler_ here in Kostantiniyye." He spread his arms and bowed. "Yusuf, I would like for you to join our Order. Continue your father's legacy. I will guide you each and every step of the way." He extended his arm in friendship.

Yusuf's brow furrowed in vague suspicion. He thought of his mother, and felt a painful surge of guilt in his stomach when he realized she had been right all this time…and that while he had believed every word she spoke as a child, with age had come skepticism, and then outright scorn. But now… it was time his life changed. He would not survive much longer on thievery. And perhaps he'd finally learn something about his father.

Yusuf took a slow breath, and likewise put out his arm to meet that of the stranger. His Mentor.

"Teach me."

_sevgili oğlum – my dear son_

_yakalayın! – catch him!_

_meretz hırsız – damned thief_

_bırak beni! – let me go!_

_desturun!- excuse me!_

_evet? – yes?_

_gibi amacının – like it was meant to be_

_ne yapıyorsun bulunduðunuz?- what are you doing here?_

_Anlamadığım – I do not understand_

_Düzeninin Suikastçiler – Order of the Assassins_


	2. Roots ch 2  Kinship

**Kostantiniyye**

**1486**

"It is a fool's errand, Yusuf!" The other Apprentice spit at the ground to emphasize his point. He looked over the eager Yusuf with a look of contempt. "Our Mentor would be embarrassed by the very idea." Yusuf paid Bajram little heed, staring over the edge of the rooftop, upon which the two men were crouched. His eyes fixated on the den. Little over a month ago it had been stolen from the Assassins, and had since been put to use as a Templar strongpoint. Ishak Pasha would have none of it, and had declared a test for his two-year recruits. The first team of recruits to recapture the den, and light a signal within its highest tower, would be guaranteed full-fledged Assassin privileges within the Order. To make determining the winner easier in case of close-calls, each team's smoke would be color-coded, thanks to the various plant materials they were given.

_Assassins…_ Yusuf particularly liked the sound of that word. It hadn't been the easiest two years of his life, but it was infinitely better then pilfering the streets as a common criminal. At least he got to go to sleep with food in his belly every night. And here he was well-liked the respected, instead of scorned and ridiculed. Perhaps, save for Bajram…

Yusuf frowned. The other student was the same age as Yusuf – nineteen, and while others may have told Yusuf that Bajram was simply jealous of his accomplishments, to hear Bajram speak of it, Yusuf would never amount to his equal. The two quarreled endlessly, much to their Mentor's great displeasure, often earning them both extra chores around the Galata headquarters, or heavier workloads. That Yusuf was trying considerably hard the last two weeks to ignore Bajram's taunts only made his rival more determined to break down the barrier. Yusuf did his best to let the barbs roll off him. But every once in awhile, Yusuf felt a particularly painful prick.

"Sounds like something your father likely would have come up with." Bajram muttered stubbornly under his breath. Yusuf furrowed his brow, carefully counting to ten in his head.

_Bir ...Iki ... Üç ..._

"That is weak, Bajram." He snorted. "You never knew my father."

"My father knew him. As did Asil's." Bajram retorted. "And he said- "

"Anything anyone has to say about my father would be _anlamsız_, as he is no longer here to defend himself." Yusuf stated calmly, although inside he was beginning to seethe. Bajram had earned plenty of experience learning how to push Yusuf's buttons. Bajram was already well into his next insult, but Yusuf had tuned him out. Something else had caught his eye – the sharp red cloth of a Byzantine Captain – and his ear – the fierce bellow of a soldier giving orders to his men. Yusuf climbed to his feet, cutting Bajram off mid-sentence.

"You are more than welcome to stay here, and explain to our Mentor why only one of us completed our assigned task." His voice was calm, despite the anger he felt. "Or you can hold your tongue, come with me, and perhaps we won't ever have to deal with each other's presence again." His sharp tone must have cut off any room for argument, for Bajram seemed content to only scowl his displeasure before likewise rising to his feet.

"_Iyi_… now listen." Yusuf kept his voice low. "Our plan is simple. We cannot take all these _kandıralı muhafızları_ out in a fight. But if you can lure them away from that courtyard there, I can take out the Captain." Yusuf quickly continued before Bajram could complain.

"-than we can _both_ light the signal fire."

Bajram took a second to consider the plan. "Naturally Yusuf, you receive all the glory for killing a Captain." Yusuf shrugged, glancing half-heartedly at the bottoms of his feet to make sure there was nothing that could cause him to slip.

"Whereas you get to take on at least five fully-armed men with nothing but a few daggers and a silly-shaped blade." He arched a brow. Bajram reconsidered.

"I suppose…it is not the worst plan I have ever heard."

"_Iyi_." Yusuf allowed himself a grin. "Now let's go, before the others catch up." The two recruits made their way along the slanted rooftops of Constantinople, arriving at the moderately-defended structure well before twilight. It was late evening, and Yusuf's belly rumbled, but he hoped their timing would pay off, and most of the Byzantine guards would be either away at dinner, or relaxed enough to not be expecting an attack at that late hour. The corner of Bajram's mouth quirked up in a smirk at the odd sound.

"You eat like a rich man's pampered mutt, Yusuf. And you are still hungry?" Yusuf blinked in embarrassment, feeling the redness creep into his cheeks.

"Still making up for lost time, I suppose…"

"Did you really starve that much?" Yusuf didn't reply; instead, he lowered himself down onto his chest, and belly-crawled over to the edge of the roof. Bajram followed suit, eyeing the small encampment of Byzantine soldiers below.

"There are too many, Yusuf."

"You only have to run." Yusuf reminded him. He raised himself onto his elbows, craning his neck to get a better look. "And remember everything Mentor has taught us."

"I know." Bajmar snipped a little. "I don't need to be lectured by _bir acemi_." Yusuf sighed a little.

"Fine. Let's get done with it, then."

Bajram backed away from the edge before rising into a careful crouch. Yusuf glanced back around his shoulder to watch him disappear, then returned his eyes to the Byzantine Captain. Only a minute or two passed before he heard shouts, and caught sight of a tan-colored blur. Bajram charged past, with at least five angry Byzantines hot on his heels. Yusuf ducked his head out of sight, then peered back over again. No sign of the guards, or Bajram. He got up and slipped over the edge of the roof, landing easily on his feet. He moved quickly out of the open, rubbing his sweaty palms on his robes.

_You have already killed men, Yusuf, _he rebuked himself. Evil, vile men who stole from the city and her people. Ishak has taught you many lessons over the past two years, but few more important than to be sure in what you do. Know your course, and all your options. Yusuf murmured this to himself as he made his way to the courtyard door. Weary of an ambush awaiting him through the doorway, the apprentice scaled the wall instead. Holding his breath, he shifted around the corner and glanced down. There… the Captain waited below, flanked by two of his men. _Gözü kör olsun_... Yusuf had been hoping the Captain would be alone, but this was better than several minutes ago at least.

Yusuf sucked in a breath. He judged the distance between his current position and his target, then let go of the wall. He jumped, twisting nimbly around in midair, bringing his sharpened wrist blade up to bare. He fell, one story, one and a half – and impacted hard against his target. He heard a strangled yell, then the crunch of bone breaking. If that didn't kill the Byzantine Captain, the pointed blade piercing his sternum most certainly did. Yusuf landed in a poised crouch over the body. He raised his head and found his himself staring into the eyes of one of the other guards. Yusuf's eyes grew wide. He had no time to give the dead man Last Rites – he stumbled to his feet and took off as fast as his feet could carry him, hearing the furious and shocked yells of the guards he had left behind. There was a sharp crack, and Yusuf felt the wind of a bullet as it shot passed him, inches from his head.

The recruit cursed to himself – of course they were carrying guns! Had he not been so blind – so eager to jump in and prove what he was made of – perhaps he would have noticed. Yusuf put on an extra burst of speed, reaching one of his favorite sights in all of Konstantiniyye – a wooden lift, designed to move heavy building materials from ground to rooftop. Yusuf grabbed the rope just as another bullet whizzed past his ear, and kicked out at the lever. Instantly he was jerked off his feet, and flying up the side of the building. He let go and landed on the roof. He tensed to run when he heard more shouts, this time from ahead of him. He ran to the end of the rooftop and peered over. Bajram run directly underneath him. He was quick on his feet, but his pursuers were beginning to catch up. Yusuf didn't even think – he raced along the edge of the roof, only inches from the drop off, then jumped. He landed on two more guards slicing both their throats in the process.

"Bajram!"

The other recruit skidded to a stop, breathing hard. He reached to his leather belt and pulled out several throwing knives. Within seconds, three more guards lay dead. Yusuf managed a tired grin, but it vanished when two more Byzantines rounded the corner ahead. One of them held a small round object in his hand. Yusuf's eyes widened. "_Indirileceksin!_" He yelled, grabbing Bajram around the middle. The two hit the ground just as a huge explosion of force and sound overtook them.

Yusuf gave a weak groan and rolled over onto his side. He winced at the bright light that hit his eyes when he opened them. He blinked rapidly, starting to raise himself onto his elbow. A splitting pain in his head forced him to stop. Yusuf craned his neck around, trying to see through the bright haze where he was.

Several dead men lay around him. It took him a moment or two to remember – they had already been killed. He and Bajram had killed them. And speaking of Bajram…

"Bajram!" He called, discovering how hoarse his voice was. He coughed, trying once more to make it up to his knees.

"Bajr- "

He froze, cutting himself off. The other apprentice lay on his stomach several yards away. Yusuf started to crawl, then managed to force himself onto his feet. He limped over, not even caring if he drew attention from any surviving guards. A quick look around confirmed that no one else was on their feet… Perhaps they were all dead.

Perhaps he was the only survivor.

Yusuf approached his downed partner, falling back to his knees. "Bajram… can you…" He swallowed hard, fighting back cold dread. He placed his hand on the limp man's side, and carefully rolled him over onto his back. He grimaced – blood covered the other man's front, soaking through his robes. Yusuf felt sick to his stomach.

"Baj… _lütfen_…" He put his hand on Bajram's chest, screwing up his face in concentration. He stared at his mouth… there! A breath! He breathed! All his training suddenly flooding back to him, Yusuf unwrapped the headband he wore and pressed the fabric firmly against where Bajram's main wound seemed to be. His fellow recruit's brow furrowed as he started to wake up, then he game a hiss of pain. Yusuf felt warm relief creep into him.

"Bajram, there was an explosion… a bomb." He tightened his grip on the material. "I think…everyone else is dead…" Bajram emitted a loud groan, and then shifted. His eyes fluttered open and he too winced at the bright light and flooded his vision. Yusuf couldn't help but grin.

"Is anything broken?"

"Nyuh…I don't… _sanmiyorum böylece_…" He tried to sit up, but sucked in a sharp breath. "My chest…"

"You are bleeding a lot. But I think it has slowed."

Bajram raised his eyes toward the tower looming over them. "You must go, Yusuf. Light our signal fire. Win for us." Yusuf shook his head.

"We are both going, Bajram. I will keep my promise." Bajram coughed violently, looking pained even to speak.

"I won't be able to make it, Yusuf. And you cannot possibly carry me on your back." His hazel eyes grew wide as Yusuf grinned. "_Tanrı bana yardım_… Yusuf, you cannot be serious!"

"Shut up, Bajram." Yusuf was amazed at the sudden kinship he felt toward his former rival. Not taking no for an answer, he helped his new friend to get to his knees, before taking his weight across his shoulders. He winced at the pounding pain his legs, but noted it began to slowly get better as he forced himself to walk.

"Thank Allah you stay so thin. And that it is not me who was so injured, instead." He noted conversationally, starting to climb the face of the tower. He felt Bajram shift weakly, and grab onto the fabric of his tunic.

"I told you, you eat like a rich man's dog." Bajram pointed out, sounding a little out of breath. Yusuf couldn't help but smile cheekily.

"I may have to cut back on that." Bajram did not reply, instead closing his eyes. Yusuf picked up his pace as best he could, considering his own injuries. Having them both reach the tower and light it was important to him, but so was getting Bajram back to the den headquarters before he lost much more blood. The apprentice felt the wind grew stronger as he rose higher, whipping his tangled hair and robes around his frame. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and finally reached the top. He climbed over the rail and tumbled down the other side, running into the very center section of the tower. Bajram grunted indignantly, slipping from his shoulders.

"Gahh, Yusuf… _böylece sakaryada_…"

"I got you up here." Yusuf replied pointedly, leaning against the tower and regaining his breath. After another moment he reached into his robes and pulled out the lighting material. He let out a sigh of relief, not having realized until that moment that he easily could have lost it after the explosion, or during their hectic climb. He looked to Bajram once more before getting onto his knees and facing the iron grill. Minutes later he had a fire going, and dark green smoke belching into the twilight sky. He let out his breath and slid back down onto his stomach, not caring if such a position was befitting an Assassin. He met Bajram's pained eyes with his own tired ones, giving a weak but genuine smile.

"_Tebrikler, arkadaş_… we did it."

"_Evet._" Bajram closed his eyes and tucked his face into the bend of his arm. "So we did."

_Bir ...Iki ... Üç ... – one…two…three…_

_Anlamsız – pointless_

_Iyi – good_

_kandıralı muhafızları – stupid guards_

_bir acemi - a novice_

_gözü kör olsun – damnit_

_indirileceksin! – get down!_

_Lütfen – please_

_sanmiyorum böylece – I don't think so_

_Tanrı bana yardım – God help me_

_böylece sakaryada – so clumsy_

_tebrikler, arkadaş – congratulations, friend_

_evet - yes_


	3. Roots ch 3  COME AT ME BRO

**1487**

**Kostantiniyye**

"This Oath that each of you takes…it is more than just words. More than just a promise. It is a commitment – to each other, and to the Order that binds each one of us together." Ishak Pasha strode up and down the length of the great chamber hallway. Opposite of him stood his four graduating students, clothed in their new teal and cream-colored robes and, despite the seriousness of the occasion, unable to keep the pride off their faces. Scattered about were the attendees – the students found slightly wanting, or younger pupils not yet of age to take a pledge so serious. They watched solemnly as their Mentor spoke to the eager graduates.

"Your loyalty to each other is second only to your loyalty to the Creed." Ishak cleared his throat, turning to face his four best students. "Seref Polatli. Rafat Yilmaz. Yusuf Tazim. And Bajram Sahin. Understand this. No matter where your journeys take you, you are devoting your lives to restoring peace throughout these lands. Stay true to our Creed. And stay true to each other." He straightened his back. "_Hiçbir şey Doğrudur. Her şey izin verilen_."

"Nothing is True. Everything is Permitted." The new Assassins murmured respectfully, heads bowed under low hoods. Ishak nodded slowly, his deep green and red robes and armor glinting in the strong candle light.

"_Evet_… Very good." He smiled at last. "Now you have all taken your own Leaps in the past. But as you go now to take your first Leaps as Assassins, I want you think about our Creed. Remember that from here on out, your entire lives change."

"Just one drink, Yusuf. It's on me."

The Assassin chuckled, settling down on the comfortable satin pillows. "Of course it's on you. No one is paying for it." He pointed out dryly. Bajram laughed, shifting his weight.

"Besides," Yusuf continued, making himself comfortable by stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles. "I don't know how you can drink so much of that…stuff." He wrinkled his nose. "Give me a hookah pipe, any day…" 

Bajram shrugged and downed the single cup of ale, himself. "More for me then, _arkadaşım_." He consented.

"Pass the pipe."

"Get your own."

"Yusuf- " Bajram curled his lip, grabbing for the pipe. Yusuf laughed and let it go.

"You need help, Baj." Bajram rolled his eyes.

"What do you think of these?" He held out his arm, extending the brand new contraption on his arm. Yusuf studied his as well.

"I wish we had been given these earlier. They would have come in handy at the tower…" Bajram snorted in agreement, running his free hand over the finely crafted leather and metal.

"Mentor Ishak insists we needed to learn how to get around without having these. Just in case."

Yusuf shrugged. It didn't matter anymore anyway – they had them, now. And each Assassin was growing increasingly fond of having such a helpful new tool.

"And just think." Bajram continued. "Now we can – "

"Yusuf! Bakram!" Both men sat straight up at the sound of one of their fellow Assassin's yells. Yusuf was already on his feet, and Bajram was quickly following suit, when Seref appeared in the doorway, looking flushed and out of breath.

"Please, you have to help me!" She stumbled over her words, lost in a panic. Yusuf strode over, grabbing her wrists. They were shaking.

"Ebru, tell me what happened." He said, voice low despite the urgency. Seref took a pained breath.

"My family! My father specifically… The Byzantine soldiers have imprisoned him early this morning. They have been interrogating him all afternoon!" She chewed on her lip, fear for her family filling her eyes.

"They suspect him of supporting the Assassins, Yusuf. If they find out who I am, they will behead him!" She covered her mouth, horrified.

"Where is our Mentor?" Bajram asked. Yusuf hadn't even realized that he'd joined them over at the doorway. He let go of Seref's bracers.

Despite her struggles to stay calm, Seref couldn't stop her heart from pounding wildly in her chest. Her hands clenched. "He has gone to meet one of our supporters, and will not return for at least another day." She swallowed hard. "And I do not know where Rafat is."

"Okay, okay…" Yusuf pressed his lips together, brow furrowing at he thought hard. "We are not going to abandon your father, Seref. _Söz veriyorum_." It took him a second to realize that Seref had thrown her arms around him in thanks, and even longer for her to disentangle herself again.

"_Teşekkür ederim_, Yusuf. Thank you. And Bajram." She took a deep breath, looked between the two of them. "Now, what is our plan?"

"I hope this idea of yours is going to work, Yusuf." Bajram muttered, carefully patting the small pouch he carried at his hip.

"We didn't fair so well with explosives, I think."

"These are not deadly." Yusuf reminded his vaguely worried friend. He traded looks with Seref, who was managing to remain calm despite her growing concern for her family. He led the trio to the rooftops, all three of them utilizing their newest additions to their armory. "They cannot backfire on us."

"_Ey_, they can." Bajram argued, wrinkling his nose distastefully as the three Assassins crouched down over the uneven tiles. Even stuffed in a pouch and tightly contained within a terracotta shell, the two stink bombs he carried smelled like something had been run over by a carriage and left to rot in the sun for too long.

"Tell me again why I had to carry these?"

Yusuf mumbled something about his sword being heavy before cutting himself off abruptly. "_Dinle_. You both know what you have to do, _evet_?"

Seref nodded eagerly, while Bajram crossed his arms over his chest. "Toss a couple of these in their direction. Watch the parade." Yusuf nodded slowly, eyeing Seref.

"And then?"

"Then you and I will sneak past them, while Baj keeps them...distracted."

"_Iyi_. Hopefully your father will not be difficult to locate."

"I doubt it. The prison in this district is very small. Only four men guard it at a time."

Yusuf peered over the edge of the roof. "I see two now. Baj- "

"I am on it." Bajram slipped easily from the rooftop. Yusuf smiled reassuringly at Seref.

"We will get your father back."

"I know…" She forced a smile of her own. Seconds later they heard the soft shatter of broken clay, then the collective groans and whines from the prison guards.

"Ugh! What is that smell? _Bu __kokuyor_!"

"Get out!"

Yusuf couldn't help but chuckle as the small contingent of guards streamed from the prison. He jumped off the roof, quickly followed by Seref. The two quickly slipped inside, making their way through the cramped rows of dirt-filled cells.

Yusuf scowled angrily, seeing at least one prisoner kept chained to the ground. "This is disgusting..."

"Baba!" He heard Seref's excited shout, and jogged down the narrow isle and around the corner. He found a filthy man, beaten by not within an inch of his life, as Yusuf had feared he would be. The old man appeared tired and a little dazed, but sound of mind. He seemed more then relieved to see a couple of Assassins.

"Seref, _benim kızım_. I was worried that if you came, you might be captured as well." He slipped his arm out between the bars, warmly grasping that of his daughter. "They are looking for you. You cannot stay here."

"We are bringing you out with us, _baba_." She told him, as Yusuf crouched and fiddled with a lock, muttering curses under his breath.

"Can you pick it?"

"Ishak has not taught me much... Rafat is really better at this then I." He scowled angrily, finally managing to disarm the lock. It clattered noisily to the ground. Seref threw open the cell door, helping her father to his feet.

"We have to go. _Şimdi_." She let her father lean heavily against her. Yusuf heard faint murmurings outside, and went to the window.

"Seref, get him outside!" He hissed. Her eyes widened as she heard the unmistakable sounds of the guards quickly approaching.

"Where is Bajram?"

"I don't know." Yusuf gave her a solid push. "_Hareket_!" Seref hurried outside with her father, Yusuf following her lead. They heard shouts from the startled guards back inside, then the rushing of booted feet.

"Where did he go?"

"It was a trick! Those damned Assassins!"

"Keep going." Yusuf whispered to Seref. "Take him and the rest of your family somewhere safe."

"But what about - "

"I have to find Baj. We will catch up with you in Galata."

Seref chewed on her lip, but knew her fellow Assassin was right. She held up her father's weakened frame, but grasped Yusuf's arm with her free one.

"Do not let anything happen to you, Yusuf."

He raised the corner of his mouth in a smile, briefly bowing his head. "But of course, _leydim_."

Seref rolled her eyes a little, but her concern was too great for her to keep up the appearence of annoyance. "And take care of Bajram." She added, before helping her limping father down the cobblestone street. Yusuf turned around just as no fewer then six Byzantine guards streamed from the back door of the prison. They came to a startled halt, gripping their swords tightly.

"_Suikastçı_!"

"So… You picked up a few more on the way." Yusuf held his ground. "There were only four of you before."

The guards all traded weary looks. "Stand down, Assassin!" One yelled. Yusuf chuckled, pulling his own sword from its sheath. He liked the sound it made – steel brushing against steel. He smiled in anticipation.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to make this rotten dog pay for freeing your prisoner right from under your noses?"

One of the Byzantine brutes let out a furious yell and charged. The Assassin braced himself for the battle to come.

_Hiçbirşey gerçek değil, her şeye izin vardır – Nothing is True. Everything is Permitted_

_evet – yes_

_arkadaşım - friend_

_söz veriyorum – I promise_

_teşekkür ederim – thank you_

_ey – oh_

_dinle – listen_

_iyi – good_

_bu __kokuyor – it stinks_

_baba – father_

_benim kızım – my daughter_

_şimdi – now_

_hareket – move_

_leydim – my lady_

_suikastçı - assassin_


	4. Roots ch 4 Imprisoned

**Kostantiniyye**

**1487**

Yusuf Tazim grit his teeth and swiftly brought his sword up to meet that of the Byzantine guard. The clash of steel rang out, the force strong enough to shoot pain up the nineteen year old Assassin's arms. He grunted with effort, managing to force the brute of a guard back, seconds before meeting both blades from the other attackers. He spun around, jumping backwards onto an outdoor table, kicking off a chessboard in the process.

"_Haydi_! I do not have all day to wait!" He jeered, managing to sound far too cheerful. One of the guards cursed and rushed him, only to discover too late the two throwing knives that had lodged deeply into his chest. He toppled, pinning another soldier to the ground with his weight. Yusuf grinned and quickly climbed the low wall behind him. He threw another knife, which pierced the calf of another guard, emitting a pained howl from the man. Yusuf prepped himself to throw another, but a well-aimed rock bashed against his forehead, just above his left eye. He dropped the knife, stumbling back and tumbling from the stone wall. He hit the ground hard, the air shooting out from his lungs. Eyes wide, the Assassin grabbed for the long dagger hidden alongside his boot, eyes on the Byzantine soldiers as the climbed over the wall (landing with considerably more grace then Yusuf had, admittedly).

The Assassin was not finished yet. He kicked out with his shoe, catching the nearest guard in the shin. He used the momentum to flip himself over onto his knees, just barely managing to counter another guard's sword. He gasped for breath, but knew he had no time to stop. His legs and arms were beginning to burn from exertion. The Byzantine cowards yelled for assistance, drawing the attention of four more of the brutes. Yusuf swallowed, mouth dry, throat feeling clamped shut.

"I should be flattered!" He yelled, hoarsely. He took a step back as the Byzantines began to surround him and realized his back was to a wall too high to be climbed. Without him even realizing it, they had managed to back him into a corner. _Stupid… beyinsizdin, Yusuf!_ He gripped the handle of his dagger so tightly his hand turned a pale, sickly white.

"What are you waiting for?" He challenged, pulling out his last throwing knife. _You had better make this one count, Assassin…_ The largest of the guards approached, armed with a sword in each hand. With an angry yell he swung at the much smaller man. Yusuf had little choice – he let his feet drop out from under him. The sharpened blade swiped just inches from the top of his head. The Assassin landed on his rear end, kicked out both feet. They slammed into the heavyset man's knees. There was a sharp crack, almost as loud as the man's unearthly howls of agony. Yusuf watched the man lose his balance and begin to fall. The Assassin managed to roll out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed. He started to jump to his feet, but several powerful pairs of arms grabbed his. He yelled in fury – what he said not even he was sure – only to receive a hard blow from the handle of a sword in his stomach. He doubled over, vomiting, and still the hands held him in place. Yusuf vaguely wondered why they were not killing him…why they hadn't just impaled him through the chest, as he most certainly would have done to them… His last coherent thought before they knocked him out with a blow to the head was if Baj had already been killed.

Yusuf awoke to the sound of his own name being whispered. And it wasn't in the sweet, sensual way he'd experienced with a woman a time or two. This was frantic – fear, with a touch of anger. He gave a groan, the sound muffled by his arm.

"Yusuf! _Yusuf!_"

"_Tamam_... just...just let me..."

"You have to get up!" The voice hissed. Yusuf's foggy brain finally recognized the sound of his friend's voice. His eyes fluttered open, but he saw nothing but blackness. He tried to move but a sharp pain erupted in his head. The Assassin gave a strangled whine, squeezing his eyes tightly shut once more. Bajram's voice came back to him.

"Yusuf, the guards caught up with me at the bazaar. They quickly drew the attention of many more, and I had to fight. By the time I got back to the prison…" He trailed off. Yusuf had managed to open his eyes. Through the darkness he could make out his friend, crouched at the tiny barred window that served as Yusuf's only source of light. He tilted his head maybe 2 inches at most – as far as he dared. He discovered he was lying on his stomach and chest, on a cold, slightly damp stone floor.

"I know, Baj." He groaned softly. "…I hear you…" Bajram closed his mouth, peering between the bars.

"Are you badly injured? I can't tell…"

"I am alright." He pressed his palm to his temple (had he been sweating? Is that why his hair was so matted?) and carefully raised his head. He strained to see through the dark. Luckily his night vision had improved greatly over the last couple years, and it didn't take too long for his eyes to begin to adjust.

His surroundings didn't help his mood any. He had indeed been captured… He lay on the floor of the same prison he and Seref had broken into. His eyes made out the figure of the man he had seen earlier, chained to the floor of the adjoining cell. He was dead – blood leaked from his mouth and his eyes stared lifelessly toward the Assassin. Yusuf felt like throwing up, but he fought down the violent push in the pit of his stomach. Bajram's voice came at him again.

"You were out for so long I thought…maybe…"

"Has our Mentor returned yet?" Yusuf asked, deliberately keeping his face turned away from the dead man.

"_Yok_… He has not."

"Find him. Do not try anything…anything rash. Not here." He heard Bajram suck in a sharp breath.

"Please, Baj…" He added weakly. If his carelessness in getting captured brought harm to his most dearest friend, his survival would mean nothing. He would never be able to live with himself.

There was a long pause.

"…I will get him." The Assassin was deeply pained to leave his friend in prison, but there was no getting him out, himself. The guards had more than tripled their numbers since Yusuf's capture. It was all Bajram could do just to sneak into the back courtyard hours later. Their Mentor would know what to do… Bajram would look to him for guidance.

"_Tut_, Yusuf. I will return as soon as I find him." He lingered a moment, as long as he dared, before vanishing from the narrow window. Yusuf winced at the ache in his head and carefully laid it back down against the chilly stone. He closed his eyes, silently praying that Baj would hurry.

"To your feet, dog!"

A sharp kick to Yusuf's side was enough to rouse the injured Assassin. He tucked his arm under his side, wincing at the now bright light beaming through the bars and into his eyes. His head swam as he forced himself up onto his elbows, then his hands and knees. A second swift kick in the ribs downed him once more. There was some scattered arguing above him – it seemed that someone just realized that injuring him further was perhaps not the best method for getting him to his feet. Yusuf groaned softly, taking the time given to him to catch his breath. The intake of air hurt his chest even more. He managed to make it to his hands and knees once more before one of the Byzantine guards – apparently one of the impatient sort – yanked him up. The Assassin grunted, and his legs instantly weakened and gave. The guard's grip around his arms was the only thing keeping him from collapsing back down on the floor. He received a harsh shake for his apparent lack of respect.

"_Kalk_! _Şimdi_!"

"You must calm your temper, Hasad." Another man warned. This one sounded calm but firm. Authoritive. Yusuf brow furrowed as he forced himself to open his eyes, braving the intense (to him) light. The man who had spoken was kneeling in front of him, seeming to study him closely.

"What brings an Assassin to my humble district? And to my own home, no less?" He chuckled quietly. "True it is a prison, but I see this place as no less than a home to myself. And to the men I employ. So answer me, Assassin: Why did you come here?"

Yusuf only stared at him wordlessly. The man – Yusuf assumed he was the captain of the guard – moved in closer, wearing a slight frown.

"_Ee_?"

"It stinks." Yusuf mumbled, head drooping tiredly. The man blinked.

"What? What stin - "

"Your breath."

The bearded man curled his lip and outstretched his arm. A harsh slap was heard throughout the tiny stone prison. The Assassin's body sagged, a stinging pain shooting through the left side of his face, and a sharp ringing sound echoing in his ears. He gaped, but no sound came out. A thin trickle of blood ran down the side of his face, and Yusuf realized a cut on his head had just been reopened.

The old man sighed and rose carefully to his feet. "That was unwise, my friend. It is unfortunate that you are choosing not to cooperate with me, when I am trying so hard to extend what hospitality I can towards you." He tucked his hands behind his back.

"My name is Adskhan Solak. As you may have guessed, I run this district, and this prison.

Yusuf gave a low groan but didn't lift his head. The captain continued on.

"And you have invaded my little sanctum… This is a problem for me." He crouched down once more, grasping the Assassin by the hair and yanking his head up. Yusuf emitted a yelp of pain. The Captain smiled.

"Make this easier on yourself, Assassin. Before I have you executed, tell me why you freed that man from my prison." Yusuf took a slow breath, meeting the eyes of his interrogator.

"…_kendini becer __gidin_." He muttered darkly. The Captain drew back as if he had been slapped. He raised his hand to hit the Assassin once more, then paused.

"I suppose it is of little loss to me." He seemed to shrug. "By morning you will be nothing but a corpse, and I will have located my prisoner." He sneered smugly. "As well as your little den of Assassins." He looked up at the guard keeping Yusuf off the floor.

"Keep him caged like the dog that he is." He ordered, straightening up. "I will return at dawn. Do **not**...lose...this prisoner. Keep your eyes on him." He glared at each of his men. The one called Hasad curled his lip and bowed his head.

"_Evet, __bayım_. He will not go anywhere." He promised solemnly.

Yusuf missed the rest of the exchange. The Assassin had slipped back into unconsciousness.

_haydi – come on_

_beyinsizdin – you were stupid_

_tamam – alright_

_yok – no_

_tutm – hold on_

_kalkmak – get up_

_şimdi- now_

_ee – well_

_kendini becer __gidin – go fuck yourself_

_evet, __bayım – yes, sir_


	5. Roots ch 5 Risks

**Kostantiniyye**

**1487**

Bajram Sahin ran, feet pounding on the roof titles just as his heart pounded in his chest. His lungs felt like they would explode, but the Assassin didn't dare pause for breath. There was no time… Yusuf could be near dead, or…or… Bajram squinted his eyes against the wind, leaping and grabbing onto a zipline with the hook of his blade. He sped down the length of the rope, arriving at the lower roof within seconds. Dashing forward he sank his blade into the gut of a rooftop guard just about to scream, abruptly silencing the man. Bajram didn't have time for this… His Mentor was on the other side of the city, and Bajram had no idea how much time – if any – Yusuf had left.

Coming to a quick halt, Bajram suddenly realized how weak his legs felt. As much as he despised admitting it, he would never make it to the home of the bomb maker his Mentor had recently befriended by running. The Assassin struggled to think of a way to speed things up…

His eyes lit up. It was dangerous…he'd never done it before. But it could work. Bajram clambered off the rooftop, landing on his feet in the center of a street. A couple of young kids sitting on a bench gapped at him wordlessly, but he ignored them. Instead he crossed the street to the tailor's shop.

Bajram cursed the day he had ever joined the Assassin Order, as he stood at the tip of the Hagia Sophia, clutching onto the seemingly pathetic scrap of fabric he held tightly between his hands. He balanced carefully, braving the crosswinds, then took a deep breath and jumped.

The wind seemed to scream at him as the Assassin fell. He grasped the fabric in his hands and raised it over his head. Just as he had prayed, the fabric billowed out, and the sudden jerk was almost enough to tear Bajram's very arms from their sockets. He grunted, but his joy at not being crushed against the floor of the bazaar 300 feet below was enough for him. More than enough. He swallowed, mouth suddenly feeling very dry, and risked a glance down. He instantly wished he had not – he could barely see people wandering the streets so far beneath his feet. He unconsciously tucked his legs up under him, his new Assassin robes fluttering madly. He aimed himself toward the roof of the Grand Bazaar, knowing the bomb-maker lived close by.

His journey seemed to take forever, although it likely only took about three minutes. He drew ever closer to the ground, and as he did so, smaller buildings seemed to materialize out of the darkness. He didn't expect to see people – the few that would be out at this hour would be too difficult to see, anyway. Bajram much preferred it – the last thing he needed was a night-time guard noticing his aerial arrival.

Bajram's arms and shoulders began to ache from the effort of keeping a tight grip on the parachute. But the Assassin didn't dare shift, knowing the wrong move could send him shooting off course (or tumbling to his death). The roofs steadily rose up to greet him as Bajram braced himself for a rough landing on top of the Grand Bazaar itself.

Thirty feet away, Bajram's eyes widened as he caught sight of movement on the roof. A member of the night watch strode across the roof. Through the wind in his ears Bajram could not hear the guard's tired muttering, but he did see the guard place his hands at his hips and stretch his back.

This could complicate things… Bajram had no itching desire to kill the man, but he couldn't risk being detected. He aimed the parachute toward the lone man, silently drifting downward. At last he let go of the fabric, falling several yards. His heels struck the man from behind, and Bajram quietly brought his hidden blade to bear. He rammed it into the back of the man's throat, halting the scream that had been rising.

The Assassin stood over his victim, completely still. Listening. Nothing of the sounds of insects and the now quiet wind. Bajram broke into a run.

He had no more time to waste.

Yusuf awoke suddenly, an agonized scream welling in the back of his throat. A burning hot pain sizzled on the back of his neck, where his shoulder blade connected. He howled, trying to jerk away from the terrible sensation, but finding himself unable to. His eyes shot open and winced once again in the unexpected light.

The sensation began to die down, but the skin still felt hot, and tight. Taking ragged breaths, the Assassin's eyes flickered around the room, eyeing his surroundings.

They had not changed. He was still imprisoned. There was an aching pain in his shoulders – he discovered his wrists were tied tightly above his head. He tugged weakly at his bonds, with absolutely no response. He tried to twist his neck around, but the pain shot through his neck and back – like fire rippling down his torso – at the slightest movement. He gasped for breath, hands clenching into fists.

"Now, my Assassin…" It was a vaguely familiar voice… Yusuf struggled to recognize it as it continued.

"I would like for you to answer my question. And…perhaps we can put this unpleasant issue of your torture behind us."

Ad…Adshe…Adskhan. Yusuf didn't recall the last name, but he knew the captain of the guard was speaking to him. He groaned, head hanging down. He opened his eyes again, but found his dark hair hanging in his eyes.

"Nothing to say, Assassin?" The man walked around the Assassin, studying his captive. He was quiet for a long time.

"No one is coming for you, _arkadaşım_." He said softly, looking down at the Assassin with something akin to a pitying expression. "I am sorry to tell you that. You will not be rescued... You will die here this morning." He tucked his hands behind his back, standing streight.

Solak. That was his last name. Yusuf broke one of the first rules of the Assassins and opened his mouth to speak.

"Do not. Call me. _Arkadaşım_." He warned in a whisper. "I am not."

"_Ozürümü_, Assassin. I meant no..." a wicked smile formed over the man's mouth. "...disrespect."

"_Hiç de bile_." Yusuf spat, glowering at his captor. The captain sighed and looked past the Assassin before giving a subtle nod. Instantly the white hot pain shot through his shoulder blades and neck. Yusuf screamed in agony, jerking against his restraints. His knees dug into the floor – if it weren't for his bonds holding him in place, the Assassin would be a collapsed, twitching mess on the floor. He cut off his own scream, forcing it to die in his throat. Instead he bit at the side of his cheek until he tasted blood. When it subsided, he heard some scattered chuckling above him.

Solak began to pace impatiently. "You are being far too stubborn, Assassin. I do not wish to cause you such suffering. I am not – contrary to popular belief – a cruel man. But sometimes, I am given no other options." He reguarded the Assassin pityingly.

"If you like, I could keep up this dance all morning, until I begin to lose all patience. But eventually, I am going to get the information I desire. Now tell me, Assassin: why did you free my prisoner?"

The Assassin's head only bobbed weakly. Solak crouched, lifting the prisoner's head. A wad of spit hit his cheek, for his troubles. Solak cursed and wiped it away angrily.

"You want to be this stubborn? You want to bring such pain unto yourself! _Ince_! So be it!" He threw his hands in the air.

"Make him suffer before you kill him." He yelled after his men as he angrily stormed out. "Then...throw his corpse on the street outside. I really don't care."

The door slammed shut. The men grinned cruely at each other and at their captive.

The largest of the group ordered the others to cut him down. Yusuf felt the only strength keeping him up give away, and he hit the floor. Bruised, beaten and bleeding, the Assassin closed his eyes. Defeated.

"Turn him over!"

The Assassin gave a thin moan mixed with a pained whimper. He hated to show any weakness in front of the brutes, but he couldn't help it. He was all of nineteen, an Assassin only recently ordained, being tortured without any real hope of rescue.

_At least Seref got away... And her father._ Yusuf opened his eyes, watching the Byzantine guards talk amongst themselves at chuckle at his condition. _And Baj..._ He wondered briefly when Baj would return, and hoped their Mentor would be with him. Even if it was too late for him, perhaps they would be able to retrieve him and...and...

"Here." One of the guards tightly gripped the cool end of a wrought iron fire poker, handing it reluctantly over to the big brute. Ah...so that's what had felt, earlier. Yusuf managed to curl his lip, sneering up at the considering larger, older men. Big Brute scowled.

"_Cesaretin var_, Assassin... I will give you that much." He grumbled, gripping the weapon tightly in his meaty hand.

"But let us see how brave you are when you can no longer see what is happening to you - " He stopped cold. Yusuf's eyes grew wide. A crossbolt stuck out of the man's thick throat. Blood poured down the Byzantine's sternum and chest as he took one faltering stop, then collapsed in a heap. The other guards stood frozen in shock. One grasped the blade of his sword and ran at the weakend Yusuf, yelling his rage. But a robed figure came flying through the adjacent window and crashed into the attacking man feet-first. A quick stab to the throat with a dagger, and the man was dead. The Assassin braced himself to be attacked by the others, but they had seemingly forgotten their courage, and clambered over each other to leave. The Assassin turned – it was Bajram! – and jogged quickly over to Yusuf.

"You are alive!" He sounded as though happier words had never passed through his lips. Yusuf tried to form words, but his voice wouldn't cooperate. He felt so tired he could sleep for a hundred days. All he managed was a weak whimper. Bajram fiddled briefly with the ties on Yusuf's wrists, but decided dealing with that was secondary to getting his friend out of there.

"Mentor is here." He told Yusuf, getting behind him and carefully pushing him up. "As is Seref. She gathered the others." Yusuf didn't need to ask what others – by this point they were quickly joined by Ishak, Seref, Rafat and three of the students. Yusuf's Mentor knelt beside his pupil, his own eyes filled with concern.

"I will take him." He said finally. "Rafat, you will take lead. Take Adamo with you. Bajram, take Pio and Jaspar and go to the rooftops. "_S__imdi_." The Assassins and students alike hurried to their assigned positions. Ishak took the boy in his arms. Yusuf felt none of it.

The Assassin had little recollection of the journey back to Galata. He only awoke at one point, dimly aware of being carried over his Mentor's shoulders. He wanted to lift his head and see if he could spot his friend, but the tight, numbing pain in his neck and shoulders made even the simplest motion impossible. And almost as quickly as he had come to, the Assassin was unconscious again.

The next time he woke, Yusuf had no idea if he had been out for hours, days or weeks. Forcing his exhausted eyes open, he found himself in his own cot, where he normally slept almost every night. His lay on his right side. Trying to turn over to better see his surroundings, Yusuf gasped as a sharp pain shot through his neck. He heard padded footsteps, and a recognizable female voice rebuking him.

"_Kes şunu_, Yusuf." Seref told him. She carefully sat down, leaning over so he could see her. "You should not be moving. The skin on your back is very burned."

"...where...?"

"Our headquarters." She then scrunched up her face. "Oh, you mean Bajram, don't you? He is fine – we all are. He was here earlier. You just missed him." She smiled, but it was forced.

"Yusuf...you are not at all well. You should get some more rest." A pause. "I will not leave you. _Söz veriyorum_." She briefly bowed her head in respect.

"Sleep, Yusuf."

She did not have to tell him twice.

_arkadaşım – friend_

_özürümü – my apologies_

_hiç de bile – like Hell_

_ince – fine_

_cesaretin var – you've got balls_

_şimdi – now_

_kes şunu – stop it_

_söz veriyorum – I promise_


	6. Roots ch 6 Healing

**Kostantiniyye**

**1487**

Yusuf didn't awake again until he felt a painful tugging at the back of his neck. He jerked awake abruptly, a sharp tremor racing through his frame. He felt the hands quickly let go.

"_Sakin ol_, Yusuf." Seref said, trying to sound firm. "Do not move. I am treating your burns." She winced at the tiny tremors that continued to race throughout his body, but didn't comment.

"How long have I been out?..." It felt weird to speak. Yusuf swallowed several times to clear his throat. He felt the hands on his shoulders and back of his neck, and flinched at the stinging sensation. He felt Seref lighten her grip. Slightly.

"Two days." She put some more balm on her fingers and continued to carefully rub it into the burns. Yusuf inhaled sharply, wedging his eyes shut. But the cooling sensation spreading over his upper back and shoulder helped….a lot.

"_Ey_… that is a long time." He whispered. Seref mmm'd, beginning to rebandage the wounds.

"According to our Mentor, it will be at least another week until you should be back on your feet. You have taken…quite some damage, Yusuf."

The injured Assassin said nothing, but hunched his shoulders a tiny bit. Seref sat back on her knees and regarded him a bit sadly.

"Broken ribs. Two severe burns on your shoulder. Various cuts and bruises all over your body. And we suspect a minor concussion." She took a slow breath. "Yusuf… we could have lost you that day. Poor Bajram feels terrible, and I – "

"Baj has no reason to feel guilty." Yusuf interjected.

"He…feels he was not able to rescue you when he should have." Seref licked her lower lip. "At least that is what he said. He has barely spoken since we brought you back."

Yusuf stared vacantly at the thin sheet that covered him. Seref shifted to her other leg, watching him. The day-to-day sounds of the Assassin's headquarters were muffled and seemed far away. They had time to talk.

"And Mentor – "

"He is angry, is he not?" Seref blinked, taken back.

"_Hayir_! Yusuf, of course not!" Yusuf lowered his eyes.

"If he was ashamed at choosing me to be an assassin... I cannot blame him. I failed him, Seref."

"You did no such thing." Seref slipped off the cot and sat down on her knees, better able to look her visibly pained friend in the eyes. Even if he seemed to be avoiding hers.

"I can assure you, our Mentor is not ashamed of you. He has been greatly concerned for your well-being."

"_Saçmalık_." He muttered. "I do not believe you."

Seref raised a brow. "You do not?"

"_Hayir_."

She frowned. "You are tired. And cranky, Yusuf. You are not yourself." She leaned over, tilting his chin up and lightly kissing his temple in one fluid motion. Then she was up, heading back over the door, and leaving a shocked-into-silence but slightly humbled Yusuf behind her.

"I will return once you have rested a bit more. _Iyi geceler_."

Time passed slowly…far too slowly, for Yusuf's taste. He slept on and off, continuing to gradually heal (albeit, at the speed a snail would be ashamed to travel, he begrudgingly told Baj). His fellow Assassins all came to see him at some point, in particularly Bajram and Seref. But even three days after he first awoke, Yusuf had not yet been visited by their Mentor.

He didn't mention it again to Seref, but every passing moment he questioned Ishak Pasha's desire for him to remain in the Brotherhood. Yusuf couldn't blame him – he'd taken on a task without permission, and had been captured and almost killed as a result. Yusuf knew that an Assassin who died nobly was a _kahraman_ to be honored, but he somehow doubted that being captured made him a hero.

As a result, Yusuf slipped into a depression, and not even Bajram could lift his spirits. So he did whatever he could to help his friend, including keeping out the newest batch of younger students, who would crowd around Yusuf's door and push eager questions at the Assassin.

That evening, Bajram and Seref had been summoned to dinner with the Mentor. Yusuf was given his food on a tray, but he had yet to touch it. He had disobeyed orders and gotten up out of bed, despite being told that he needed another two days rest. Yusuf felt the powerful ache tugging at his limbs, but managed to stand on his own feet at the bedroom window. Outside, he could see the training courtyard. Most of the students would be eating inside, but a few particularly eager pupils continued to train long into the dinner hour.

The tired Assassin heaved a sigh. He would certainly miss this place when he was excommunicated…

"_Efendim_?..."

Yusuf jumped at the unexpected voice. He looked back overh is shoulder, wincing at the sharp pain he was still not yet accustomed to. A young girl – no more then fourteen – had pushed his door open maybe a foot, and was peering inside. Her eyes lit up when they landed on the Assassin, then grew round as she took in his obvious condition. Yusuf sent her a glare, but she promptly ignored it, slipping inside, her gaze wandering every which way. Yusuf scowled and faced the window, brow furrowed.

"You should not be here."

"I know... Bajram would yell at me." She went quiet, but Yusuf could hear her feet padding against the wooden floorboards. She was a gusty little thing, he'd give her that. To the students, the Assassins were like holy warriors. The teachers. Even if they weren't yet Master Assassins, they still commanded respect. Yusuf left a mental note to ask Bajram about this one, later. She had spunk.

But right now, to be left alone was all Yusuf wanted.

"Then leave." He growled.

"My name is Anayis. Anayis Utana." She appeared right next to him. Yusuf could practically feel her eyes traveling up his spine to the jumble of bandages that covered his burns.

"I didn't ask for your – "

"They said you were captured by the Byzantines. Is that true?" Yusuf bit back his tongue, cutting off the verbal lashing she so rightly deserved. Perhaps this was his punishment… He imagined his Mentor waiting just about the door, smirking knowingly. It was enough to make Yusuf smile. Almost.

"…_evet_."

"And that our Mentor and the Assassins freed you." Her eyes shone. It must have sounded like something out of a story book her mother had read to her once, Yusuf mused. He shrugged wearily.

"They did."

"What happened to your back?" She reached up and ever-so-lightly touched the bandage. The Assassin flinched, giving a soft hiss of pain.

"How old are you, anyway?" He snapped. To her credit, the girl didn't shrink back.

"Seventeen. I know I look young, but – "

"_How. Old_." She scowled.

"Fourteen…" She lowered her eyes. "And before you ask, my parents don't know I am here. As far as they know, I could be dead." She shuffled her feet.

"Not that they would care. I was abandoned by my mother. I never knew my father."

It was a common enough tale – it was shameful the way parents abandoned their offspring, instead of finding someone else to raise them. If Yusuf had been in a better mood, he would have sat down with the girl and told her of his own mother and father. Instead, the Assassin tilted his chin up and narrowed his eyes at the window in front of him.

"…I was not going to ask." He said stiffly.

"Oh…" She worked up a smile. "_Iyi_."

"Anayis? Were you supposed to be in here?" Yusuf's eyes flickered back over his shoulder – his friend stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He scowled at the impudent girl, who had the good grace to look guilty.

"No, _efendim_."

"Then leave." He went inside, glowering at her coldly until she scurried out. He looked back to Yusuf, who was leaning back against the window.

"I will speak to her." Bajram told him, sitting down heavily on the end of the cot. "These _çocuklar_ need to learn their place."

Yusuf snorted. Bajram leaned back and grinned. "As I recall, you are not yet supposed to be on your feet. You wouldn't be hoping for another rebuke from Seref, would you?" Yusuf narrowed his eyes sharply as his friend chuckled.

"No." He spat rudely. "_Sessiz olmak_, Baj."

The chortling Assassin held up his hands in an expression of mock surrender. "Fine, fine. Have it your way." Still chuckling, he rose from the cot. "You may want to get back to bed though, Yusuf. İshak will be seeing you, and he will not be pleased if he finds you disobeying orders." He glanced at his friend and, seeing no response, shrugged and headed for the door.

"I will see you later."

Yusuf crossed his arms tightly, wishing he'd been a bit nicer to Baj, but at the same time knowing his friend would understand his frustration. Thankful that Baj had had the thoughtfullness to close to the door behind him, Yusuf set about finding clean robes to change into. Each Assassin was given at least two pairs of robes to care for – he guessed the set he'd been wearing earlier were being cleaned. Just wearing the pair of trousers had had now would not do, if their Mentor stopped by. Grumbling to himself, Yusuf searched the room for his clean set, coming up empty handed. He was so involved with this task he didn't hear his door open, or his Mentor take several steps inside.

"Yusuf Tazim."

The Assassin whirled, yelping in pain as he twisted his fractured ribs. He pressed his arm to his side, carefully making his way back to his cot. Ishak Pasha watched him wordlessly, then sighed as the Assassin sat back down.

"Up and on your feet. I might have suspected." He returned to the door, speaking softly. Yusuf strained to listen, but the pounding in his side drew most of his attention. A few moments later his Mentore returned, followed by Seref. She pursed her lips together, indicating with a sharp jerk of her head that Yusuf had best get back into bed. He did, not daring to speak, carefully lying down on his good side. Seref sat down on her knees and got to work. She took hold of his arm, pushing it out of the way (ignoring Yusuf's strained whine as she did so), and used her fingertips to feel along the rib line.

Ishak Pasha stood just in Yusuf's range of sight and watched. After several long moments he finally spoke.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Assassin?"

Yusuf stared up regretfully at his Mentor.

"Only that I am ashamed, _öğretmen_. My actions have been unjustified. I had no right to do as I did without permission." He swallowed hard, mouth feeling as dry as cotton. He felt Seref's hands tense as he spoke, but she did not interrupt him.

"And in getting captured, I brought shame upon myself, and upon your Order, _efendim_." He took a deep breath. "I cannot...I cannot tell you..."

"I know, Yusuf." The Assassin almost jolted in surprise – his Mentor's tone was not strict and angry, as he had expected, but was warm. There was even concern in the older man's eyes.

"I know you are sorry...and you have little reason to be. You saved an innocent man's life. And you protected the Order by not heeding a captain's demand for information, despite the torture inflected on you." His eyes flickered briefly over the wounds.

"I _thank you_, Yusuf. I have never been more proud of you then I am this very moment."

Yusuf was speechless. He gaped in shock as the Mentor smiled, then slipped out as quietly as he'd slipped in. Seref grinned, bowing her head briefly as he left.

"I _told_ you." She laughed, as soon as the door close and he was out of ear shot. "He is proud of you. You did good, Yusuf."

"I...I just..." The Assassin didn't even know where to start. He could not believe his Mentor's words.

Seref leaned over him, meeting his ocean-blue eyes with her own rich hazel ones. He shut his mouth.

"Thank you, Yusuf... For helping me to rescue my father." She smiled, slipping her hand back behind his head. "If you ever need anything...do not hesitate to ask." She brushed her palm against his cheek and pressed her lips to his. Meeting little in the way of resistance, she added a small, brief kiss even afterwards. Looking a little flushed but happy, she climbed back off the cot, apparently finished with checking his ribs, as well. She called back over her shoulder before leaving.

"And don't get back out of bed, Yusuf. You don't want me to have to force you."

_Sakin ol__ – calm yourself_

_değil - no_

_saçmalık - nonsense_

_iyi geceler – good night_

_kahraman – hero_

_efendim – sir_

_evet – yes_

_iyi – alright_

_çocuklar – children_

_öğretmen – teacher_


	7. Roots ch 7 An Evening Out

**Kostantiniyye**

**1490**

It wasn't terribly often that Assassins were able to relax and enjoy all that Kostantiniyye had to offer. Over the last six years, Yusuf had all but forgotten what it felt like to be part of the impressive festivals and celebrations that took place each and every month. Parades, banquets and dances were a common sight throughout the city, and in each of her districts. Galata, especially, hosted some of the most visually spectacular gatherings.

Twenty-three year old Yusuf felt like a young boy again. Glancing to his friends, he could see the revelry on each of their faces – the excitement in their eyes, identical to his own. Fireworks lit up the dazzling night sky, causing Seref to 'ooh' and point. Even Rafat, fresh from a particularly difficult undertaking to Jerusalem, seemed pleased with the Assassin's night out.

"How do you think the new graduates are handling things?" He asked the others, tugging at the strap across his chest that kept his new crossbow in place. Yusuf shrugged, while Bajram seemed distracted with locating a _bazlama_ vendor. Seref began to search through the pockets of her robes for spare _akçe_.

"As well as we did, at that age." She replied, pulling out a few coins. "Yusuf – come with me to that vendor, over there?" She tilted her head toward a pudgy man bartering for his woven scarves and silks. Yusuf made a face, earning him a sharp elbow to the ribs.

"_Iyi_, Seref." He grinned, following her over to the merchant. Rafat watched them leave, a puzzled look on his face. Bajram joined him, munching on the thin Turkish bread.

"Is there…something between them, Bajram?"

He followed Rafat's gaze and rolled his eyes. "_Yok_. Not in that sense, Rafat.." He returned to his treat, mostly uninterested in the Yusuf-and-Seref interaction, anyway. Rafat still appeared a bit lost, but decided it wasn't exactly his business, anyway.

"Teal? Or violet?"

"Why do you want me to choose?"

"It's for you." Seref stared at the two, before deciding on teal. "Give me your _başörtüsü_."

"I don't think – "

She sighed and grabbed it herself, fiddling with the fabric. Yusuf scowled at her but found his glares to be highly ineffective. Seref expertly weaved the brightly-colored teal cloth around the scarf, creating a visually interesting pattern of orange, yellow and now teal stripes. She smiled, satisfied with her work and handed it back to him.

"There. Quit your whining – I didn't hurt it." Yusuf took it back.

"It looks…nice." He said, begrudgingly. He tied it back around his head, opting to keep his hood down. It'd be a shame not to show off such a nice accessory. Seref grinned, then laughed.

"Did you not know that the hood makes the Assassin?" She teased as they wandered back over to Bajram and Rafat. Yusuf shrugged, not seeming all too bothered.

"Perhaps it will catch on."

The Assassins enjoyed their evening away from the den, venturing from celebration to celebration, watching the people dance, sing and drink. Bajram even drank down a couple cups of a rather foul-smelling liquid himself, something Yusuf and Seref entirely refused to try. Rafat ventured a small taste, before promptly spitting it out on the cobblestones. Bajram rolled his eyes and finished off the cup.

"_Amatör_..." He grumbled, setting the empty cup back down on the vendor's table and choosing to ignore Rafat's pantomimed vomiting. Seref laughed, then winced as a feeling of nausea swept through her. She frowned, setting her hand on her stomach. True the contents of that cup had smelled terrible, but not enough to literally make her ill. She blinked, swallowing several times. Yusuf looked at her oddly.

"_Sen iyi misin_?..."

"_Evet_...I think..." She licked her lips, keeping still until the uncomfortable feeling finally started to fade away.

"I just...felt a little sick."

Yusuf gave Bajram a small shove. "Even the smell was enough to make Seref ill!" Bajram caught his balance, making a face.

"Well _I_ somehow managed to drink it just fine." He shot back.

Yusuf grinned, turning his attention back to Seref. "You feel alright now though, _evet_?" Seref nodded slowly, unable to shake the odd feeling she had, even if she no longer felt like she was about to hurl. Yusuf nodded, satisfied.

"Perhaps we should head back, anyway..." He murmured. He hated to cut their enjoyment short, but truth-be-told, he felt uncomfortable being far from the den for so long. And he couldn't exactly erase the feeling that something was gravely wrong.

The four Assassins arrived back at the den in the very early hours of the morning. All four were suitably exhausted, but in good spirits. Even Seref seemed to be in a much better mood, looking so fitfully tired her head kept bobbing against Yusuf's shoulder. He traded looks with Bajram, who could only shrug his shoulders and smirk. He then jogged up ahead, meeting with the students that had been on watch that night. Yusuf groaned softly, catching sight of Anayis. Seref blinked and raised her head. She chortled.

"Your fan club awaits."

"_Kes sesini_." He growled warningly.

"It's true!" For the last three years, ever since Yusuf's capture and near-death, the quirky golden-haired girl had taken it upon herself to act as Yusuf's personal pupil. Yusuf had no interest in training his own apprentice, and even if he did the Order forbade it of anyone who wasn't a Master Assassin. But Anayis was anything if not persistant, and enjoyed tailing Yusuf wherever he went. The Assassin had to admit, while not the most graceful with her weapons, the girl was incredibly gifted when it came to the art of stealth. And poor Yusuf was usually always the target of her well-honed talents.

Of course, having Bajram around helped... a little. Ishak had bestowed upon him the dubius honor of keeping the students in line while at the den. Bajram hated the job, and greatly looked forward to being free from it within the next couple years. In the meantime, he had made it his solemn duty to come down on the students as hard as he could. Any man, woman or child not where he or she was supposed to be at any given time was subjected to a harsh (not to mention often lengthy) lecture from the higher-ranked Assassin. As a result, most did anything in their power to avoid it.

_Not Anayis_, Yusuf bemoaned. She got into trouble with Bajram more often then any three other students. Often Yusuf would find his friend ranting and fuming over the girl's apparent 'lack of any social respect' and 'brains the size of grape nuts.' Yusuf would roll his eyes and take it upon himself to calm his friend down. Yes, Anayis annoyed him. _Bir çok_. But the girl did have skills, and was really not one to cause trouble. Yusuf would point out that she did love the Order, and respected Bajram...to an extent. Bajram would usually snort (something Yusuf had long come to see as a signiture sound-effect for him) in frustration, before leaving to find more poor, unknowing students to bark at.

She was annoying, but not as much as Yusuf liked to let on. The attention was kind of nice... even if she was only seventeen.

"Yusuf!" Anayis grinned excitedly and waved, paying no mind to Bajram's scowls. Yusuf managed a weak wave in return.

"She likes you, Yusuf." Seref murmured.

"She's too young to know who she likes."

"Oh, she knows."

Yusuf sighed. "She should learn sooner rather then later that there is little room in an Assassin's life for such things. You either give your life to the Order, or you choose not to." Seref eyed him, raising a curious brow.

"That's not what our Mentor says, Yusuf."

"That's what I believe." 

"Do you? _Gerçekten_?" The only reply she received was a shrug. She rolled her eyes and tugged playfully at Yusuf's newly decorated _başörtüsü_.

"Let's get some rest."

Yusuf didn't get to sleep in as late as he had been hoping to. He awoke around noon time (he could tell by the sound of the late-morning ships arriving at the docks nearby), feeling something funny in his chest. The same bad feeling from the night before. He frowned, slipping out of bed, feeling a strange chill. He slipped into his robes, just as a frantic pounding on his door interrupted his thoughts.

"Yusuf! Come quick!" Rafat, always the steady and serious type, never sounded so frightened. "It is Seref! She has taken ill!"

Yusuf didn't question how he had known that something was going to happen. He only reacted. He and Rafat quickly made their way to Seref's quarters. They met Bajram there, who was looking worried, himself.

"Go get Ishak." Yusuf told Rafat. "He will know what to do." The other Assassin nodded and quickly left. The tone of their voices had drawn the attention of the students, who were beginning to look anxious. Anayis approached Yusuf, tugging on the sleeve of his robe.

"Is Seref alright?"

"I do not know." He said, distracted. "Anayis, I need you to keep the others away. They do not need to get sick as well." The golden-hair girl chewed on her bottom lip.

"But what about yo- "

"Do it." He snapped, before abruptly disappearing back inside the room. Bajram glowered at Anayis warningly, before following his friend.

Seref looked…she looked downright terrible. She lay weak in her cot bed, her face a sickly pale. Yusuf sat carefully beside her, but he didn't think she even noticed his presence.

"She was found like this?" He asked quietly. Bajram didn't know much more then Yusuf himself did, but he nodded.

"_Evet_. Only moments ago. One of the students."

"I take it this changes your opinion on them coming in uninvited."

Bajram said nothing. Yusuf leaned over the sickly woman, noting the feverish shivers racing up and down her frame, which seemed to have shrunk several sizes in one night.

"Bring me some more blankets. She is freezing." Bajram did was he was asked. Yusuf pressed his palm against Seref's forehead and winced at the heat.

"You said you did not feel well…_Çok üzgünüm_..."

Rafat and their Mentor arrived quickly. The students outside all backed away as their Mentor, a strong and intimidating man even in his late 50's, made his way wordlessly past. Yusuf looked up at he entered, bowing his head respectfully.

"Mentor."

"How is she fairing, Yusuf?"

The Assassin let out his breath. "She said she felt sick last night, but it seemed like nothing more then passing nausea." He decided to keep the foul-smelling drink Bajram had digested out of it. "She was fine when we arrived back here. But now..."

"Feverish." Bajram cut in, cutting to the point. "And very weak, Mentor."

Ishak pressed his lips together. He made his way over to the cot. "_Zavallı __çocuk_... Why did this have to happen to you, child?..." He brushed her hair to the side, noting her hurried breathing. "I will send for a doctor immediately – one who is friendly to us." He told the others, straightening. He ignored the newer students peering inside through the crack of the door.

"Make sure she has whatever she needs." He told Yusuf. "Her care is in your hands." He left, the recruits at the door hurrying back to whatever they were supposed to be doing.

Bajram and Yusuf exchanged glances. Rafat swallowed. "I will bring her water." He told the others. Yusuf took Seref's hand, holding it close.

"Have strength, Seref." He told her, making sure her shivering body was completely covered with the spare blankets Bajram had fetched.

"You can **beat** this."

_bazlama – Turkish bread dish_

_akçe – Turkish money_

_iyi – fine_

_yok – no_

_başörtüsü – head scarf/headband_

_amatör – amateurs_

_sen iyi misin – are you alright_

_evet – yes_

_kes sesini__ – shut up_

_gerçekten - really_

_Çok üzgünüm – I am sorry_

_zavallı __çocuk__ – my poor child_


	8. Roots ch 8 Ups and Downs

**Kostantiniyye**

**1490**

Seref shivered violently and unconsciously tugged the blanket tighter around her. She dimly felt the cot shift, and someone press a cold palm against her forehead. She furrowed her brow, wanting to twist away from the icy chill, but her entire body seemed to ache. She didn't want to move. Through the fog she could hear…something…her name? She knew she should answer, but she was exhausted. All she wanted was to keep sleeping.

Yusuf slowly sat back again, his hand slipping from Seref's head. It had been almost forty-eight hours, and still no improvement. He could hear the doctor speaking in quiet tones to Ishak, just outside the room. Yusuf had little interest in eavesdropping – his Mentor would speak to him soon enough. He met Baj's eyes from across the room. The other Assassin shifted uncomfortably on his perch, cross-legged on the window sill, hating the silence and the waiting.

"…how is she?" He asked, for what Yusuf guessed to be the fourth time that morning. Yusuf groaned, stretching out his back, hearing his spine crack. He hadn't realized that he'd been almost entirely immobile for the past three hours.

"Same as before." Bajram plopped his chin down on his cupped hand, looking exhausted. They were _both_ exhausted – they had both been with Seref as much as possible. At least one of them was at all times, while the other would try to catch maybe a couple hours of sleep. Their Mentor had been understanding, and had allowed both Yusuf and Bajram their privacy. Unfortunately, Rafat had been called back to Jerusalem on an urgent request. Before reluctantly leaving, he had told the others to keep him updated of any changes as best they could.

Yusuf let himself slump. Baj slipped down off the sill, landing lightly on his feet.

"I have to see to the students…" The look on his face was clear as day – this wasn't exactly anything he was looking forward to.

"Yusuf, I'll be back as soon as – "

"It's alright, Baj." He forced a small smile. "It's not like much will change…"

Bajram looked briefly down at his feet, giving an awkward little shuffle. "…I'll be back soon." He told Yusuf quietly, before slipping outside. Yusuf pulled his legs up onto his little corner of the cot, crossing them tightly. He struggled to suppress a yawn, then gave up and laughed instead. As if Seref were awake and somehow offended at his apparent lack of excitement… Yusuf knew she was too damn selfless to ask that he stay with her around the clock. But Yusuf didn't care. If it were Bajram or Rafat in that cot, he'd be in exactly the same place. Assassins shared a special bond… between all of them, yes, but especially between the few that grew up and trained together. If Yusuf ever lost any of them, he'd lose a family member. He'd lose his brother, or his sister.

The Assassin looked to Seref in concern when she began to hack, but thankfully it was a short fit. Once she settled down again he went back to brooding.

Before he knew it, Yusuf had dozed off, his shoulders slumped, and his chin resting against his collarbone.

Yusuf was awakened by a careful but deliberate grasp of his shoulder. The fog of sleep lifted quickly and he raised his head, tensed. His Mentor gave him an assuring smile.

"I did not want to wake you. But I figured _you_ would want to be awakened." Yusuf nodded, rubbing at the sleep still in his eyes.

"_Evet_, Mentor. My apologies." Ishak waved off any such guilt from the Assassin.

"You know that you have no reason to apologize." He looked to the still-sleeping young woman.

"…He says that all we can do is wait. And try to make her comfortable." Ishak said at last. "This fever has been going around…many people have died. But others have lived. And she is strong." He tightened his grip on Yusuf's shoulder.

"_O iyi olacak_." He said calmly, before leaving Yusuf to watch over his friend.

Yusuf rested his elbows on his knees, eyes on Seref. She had shifted a little as he had been dozing, her head now tilting over to the side, her bangs (which she had began to grow out) falling a little over her eyes. Yusuf leaned over, brushing them gently away. He straightened up, catching sight of Bajram out of the corner of his eye.

"No changes."

Bajram straightened his robes as he moved inside. Yusuf caught the musky scent of sandlewood and arched a brow. Bajram looked abashed.

"I thought perhaps it might help the damned recruits study their teachings."

"_Ve_?..."

Bajram made a face. Yusuf could have guessed. He chuckled, despite himself.

"They will come around. We did."

"_We_ were also older then fifteen." Bajram argued, sitting down heavily on one of the many tapestries and rugs covering the hard wooden floor. Yusuf's eyes drifted back to Seref. Her lashes were fluttering.

"Seref?" He got up on his knees. Bajram perked up.

"Seref? Can you hear me?"

She shook a deep, shuddering breath, and coughed. Yusuf chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. Seref took another breath, then blinked up at him. She managed a weak smile.

"Yusuf?... what..." She murmured. He grinned and scooted closer, taking her arm.

"You have been greatly ill, Seref. For nearly two days." She blinked slowly, comprehending his words.

"I..."

"It's alright. _Gönlünüzü ferah tutabilirsiniz_." He smiled. Seref relaxed, letting her eyelids flicker shut. But she didn't sleep. She lay still, feeling Yusuf's continued reassuring presence, until she felt ready to try and move. She opened her eyes and lifted her head, pushing her elbows back behind her. Yusuf knew better then to tell her to stop – he wouldn't have taken his own advice, in her place. Instead he shifted off the cot, staying close so he could help her if need be.

"_Dikkatli...dikkatli..._"

She took a deep breath once she was up, and coughed. But Yusuf caught the subtle difference. She _sounded_ better. He noticed Bajram slowly stand up and make his way over to them. Seref managed a tired grin.

"You must have had your hands full, Baj. Keeping Yusuf out of trouble for me."

He rolled his eyes good-naturely. "You'd think he were one of the students." He replied with a soft smirk. Yusuf was tempted to elbow the snarky Assassin hard in the ribcage, but that would have required leaving Seref's side. He compromised with himself by sending Bajram a look that would have made any other man shrink back in fear. Bajram only crossed his arms over his chest and smiled sweetly back.

"How do you feel?" Yusuf asked, again focused on the sick Assassin. She reached up and lightly touched her head.

"This feels better... My throat still hurts, but it no longer feels like I've swallowed a pile of embers." She quickly ran her tongue over her dry lips, and brushed her hair back behind her ear.

Bajram set his hand against her shoulder. "I am glad you are alright." He said, serious once more. He looked to Yusuf. "Ishak should know that she is awake." He bobbed his head, glancing at them both before leaving the small bedchamber.

Yusuf smiled at Seref. "You are feeling better, _evet_? Truly?" She rested her hands in her lap, pulling her knees up before crossing her legs.

"I do, Yusuf. _Endişe etme_."

He chuckled. "Apologies, Seref. But humor me – I am not used to having one of my friends in such a bad state."

Seref leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, meeting his jovial eyes with her serious ones.

"_Hayir_... But I am." She timidly reached out one hand to brush his bangs away from his eyes. Yusuf stopped her, hand lightly grasping her wrist.

"Seref...I don't think..."

"Think what, Yusuf?" She arched a slender brow. "We are not doing anything wrong."

"You are still not well. I cannot take advantage – "

A playful smile broke out over her face. "You are not taking advantage of anything, Assassin." She murmured, shifting to her knees. "If anything...perhaps I am taking advantage of your concern for me..."

He let go of her arm. Yusuf offered no resistance as she gripped him by the fabric of his hood and tugged him closer, before slipping her arms around his neck. She grinned coyly, and for a fleeting moment Yusuf had the strange feeling that he was being toyed with. But the very thought quickly fled his mind as she pressed her lips to his, letting her lashes flutter closed. Against his better judgement, and caught up in the moment,Yusuf deepened the kiss, feeling his skin flush warm as Seref offered a tiny whimper. Eventually it ended though, Yusuf tilting his head just ever so slightly back. Seref opened her eyes, looking to his with a vaguely confused expression.

"...why...?"

"Now is not the moment." He replied gently, cupping her cheek against his well-callused palm. What Yusuf realized he could not say was that he could never see another Assassin quite in that way. He respected her far too much. And while it was something he would never admit to himself, he could not stomach the thought of caring so intensely for someone, only to lose them to the constant dangers of being an Assassin. He had to keep at least some kind of distance...what little he was capable of.

But he could not say that. Not when Seref was staring at him so, a glimmer of vain hope in her eyes. Yusuf opened his mouth, then interrupted himself with a small chuckle.

"Just...give it some time." Was all he could offer her.

**Two months later.**

Bajram growled and clapped his hands together sharply. "_Hayır! __Yanlış yapiyorsunuz_!" He scolded sharply at the students, who halted their mock battle to eyeball him in frustration.

"Nasim, it is a hookblade – not merely an accessory!" He snapped, taking long strides over to reach them. He ignored Yusuf and Seref seated nearby, taking a break from the hot midday sun by sitting under a small cluster of palms in the corner of the training yard. They traded knowing glances, and Yusuf called out to Baj not to be, "too big of a _çetin ceviz_." Bajram responded with a rude gesture, causing Yusuf to break into hysterics.

"You need to ran faster at your opponent, or you will never work up the momentum needed to perform the maneuver!" He growled, glancing about.

"Ah! Yusuf. If you would be so kind as to, eh, partner up..."

Yusuf climbed to his feet, grinning slyly as he trotted over to the small group. "I have little interesting in _partnering_, Baj, although I must say that I am flattered, none-the-less..."

"_Kes sesini_!" Bajram hissed, but his eyes were laughing. Yusuf shrugged and stood a short distance from the other Assassin, bracing his feet against the dirt beneath him. Bajram readied himself, extending the silver hookblade. He broke into a quick jog, working up just enough momentum to jump, tuck his legs and roll over Yusuf's back, before landing easily back down on both feet. He returned to the students, who had all been watching with interest.

"Of course, your opponant will not be waiting so patiently." He began, as Yusuf straightened his back and casually dusted himself off. "Use the hookblade to grab him by the collar of his tunic, or the edge of his armor, and use it to pull down his head." He partially turned, shooting Yusuf a look, but the other Assassin clearly had little interest in continuing with the lesson. Bajram threw up his hands, faking annoyance.

"_Yeniden_!"

Yusuf headed back over to the shaded area, finding not only Seref, but their Mentor as well. He bowed his head in both respect and in greeting.

"_Oğretmen_."

"Ah, Yusuf. I'm glad I had arrived just in time to catch your and Bajram's fantastic demonstration..." Yusuf glanced away and gave something of a theatrical cough. Seref rolled her eyes.

"_Evet_, Mentor. Sometimes, all it takes it the right person to make things clear."

"I will be sure to relay that to Bajram." Ishak replied, an amused smile playing in his eyes. "But for now...I have news to share with you."

Yusuf looked to Seref, whose smile had vanished. He took a wild guess and figured she already knew, and that he wouldn't necessarily like it.

"Mentor?..."

"I have received word from Rhodes. They have need of a well-trained Assassin to assist in teaching a new batch of recruits. Our Den Master there, a young Italian man by the name of Augusto, is talented, but has precious few others to rely on."

Yusuf glanced between Seref and Ishak, then at Bajram, who was now apparently going over the basic fundamentals of the hookblade and its usage.

"...Bajram is going to...?"

"_Hayir_." Ishak interrupted. "I cannot send Bajram. As you can see, he has something of a…a way with my students…"

"Then you are sending..." Yusuf stopped as his Mentor looked very deliberately at Seref, who cleared her throat. Yusuf felt a surge of mixed feelings.

"I know the three of you are close." Ishak continued. "But Seref will learn much while she is working under Augusto. And I trust she will bring pride to the Ottoman Assassins." He paused. "And it will not be any longer then a few years, at most."

Yusuf was only dimly aware that he was nodding along slowly. "_Evet_... of course, Mentor."

"_Ben__onur duyuyorum_." Seref spoke to their Teacher, but her eyes flickered back to Yusuf. She held his gaze. "I will not disappoint you, _Efendim_."

Ishak straightened, bobbing his head. "I know you will not." He nodded to each of them in turn, before making his way back inside the Den.

Yusuf met Seref's eyes. He didn't know what to say. She stared back at him, eyes holding a vaguely pleading note. A long moment of silence passed between them, interrupted only by Bajram's continued calls to the students to straighten up. Yusuf swallowed and opened his mouth to speak – but Seref lowered her head, hiding her eyes with the cowl of her hood, and slipped quickly past him. Yusuf watched her haistly walk away, her hands clenched tightly, himself feeling only utter helplessness.

"Seref – wait!"

She had already left him.

_o iyi olacak__ – she will be alright_

_ve – and_

_gönlünüzü ferah tutabilirsiniz – you can rest_

_dikkatli - careful_

_evet – yes_

_endişe etme__ – quit worrying_

_hayir __– no_

_yanlış __yapıyoruz – you are doing it wrong_

_çetin ceviz_ _– hard-ass_

_kes sesini__ – shut up_

_öğretmen – teacher_

_ben__onur duyuyorum – I am honored_

_efendim - sir_


	9. Roots ch 9 Escaped Fate

**Kostantiniyye**

**1491**

Yusuf rolled over onto his back, stretching his arms over his head. He smiled as the woman he liked to playfully refer to as his _Fars __Prenses_ followed his lead and rolled over as well, running her arm over his chest, tips of her fingers lightly brushing his ribs. He closed his eyes and let out a breathy sigh as the Romani, an incredibly attractive young woman he knew only by the name of Silki, wedged herself firmly against his side, trailing light kisses over his bare shoulder. Never did she mind when the handsome Assassin stopped by the Romani district for a visit. And that particular day, immediately upon seeing him, she'd known he needed at least some degree of taking care of, that morning.

The _Suikastçı _had been quiet. Distant. He'd come to speak to their leader, a lanky man by the name of Romo, but Silki liked to think he'd mostly come to see her. She'd approached him, taking his hand in hers, giving just the tiniest squeeze. He'd followed her without a word. Within minutes they were in her bed.

Now the Assassin seemed thoroughly relaxed and pleasantly exhausted. His chest rose and fell steadily: faster then normal, but just beginning to slow. Silki hoisted herself up on one elbow, reaching up to brush hair from his startlingly blue eyes.

"You **always** wear that thing, _sevgilim_?"

He grinned, but didn't bother to open his eyes. Instead he reached up and tugged the _başörtüsü_ he wore down, just enough to keep the intruding light out. The Romani woman rolled her eyes and brushed her soft palm against his cheek, tender skin meeting the scratchy roughness of a beard just beginning to grow in. She placed a series of kisses on his throat and jaw bone, immensely pleased when he tilted his chin back and let out a pleased little sigh. It increased slightly in pitch when he felt a gentle nibble against his skin.

They were not lovers; not by any means. She merely enjoyed his company, and he enjoyed hers. Silki was content to never bind herself to any man, and her fierce independence was something Yusuf had always greatly admired about her. There was a time when he would have offered her a place within the Assassin Order, but he knew she could never leave the Romani people she'd been raised with.

His thoughts shifted from the strong-willed woman he currently shared a bed with to another strong-willed woman he greatly cared about… Seref. He could hardly believe it'd been almost a year since she had left for the island of Rhodes. He had thought of her much since then, and particularly he had thought about the poor terms they had parted on. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He had written to Seref twice since, but had yet to receive any sort of reply from her. As a result, more than once he had woken up in a cold sweat, both his stomach and his thin blankets twisted around in knots. The night before had been particularly painful, which was why Yusuf had decided it had been far too long since he had last sought out the comfort of his Persian Princess.

He felt her nails brush his chest and he smiled, slipping his arm comfortably around her slim waist, his callused palm against her incredibly soft skin. He felt her lips brush his and he pressed back eagerly. She shifted against him, and he felt her hands drift back up his body to the fabric around his head. She pushed it back up over one eye. Yusuf found her peering at him intently; her cheeks flushed pink with excitement. _Allah_, she was so beautiful.

"Are you ready to go again?"

"How is the Order taking care?" Silki leaned against the door frame, regarding the Assassin with interest. The gentle breeze fondled her locks of rich, wavy cocoa-brown hair, tucking it gently back behind her neck. Yusuf hoisted his crossbow back over his shoulder.

"_Yeterince iyi_." True, Seref was gone for a few years, but Rafat had returned from Jerusalem earlier then expected, and the Order had since gained four new recruits. Unfortunately, Ishak Pasha had taken ill...and so far, it seemed to be the same illness that had almost taken Seref from them so many months ago. Yusuf had come to explain his Mentor's continued absence to Romo though, not Silki. She only nodded her understanding.

"Good...and how is Yusuf Tazim?" She smiled. The corner of Yusuf's mouth tilted slyly upwards.

"_He_ is doing much better, _benim __hanımefendim_." Silki's pleased little smile grew as the Assassin winked and performed a bow fit for the _Padişah_, himself. "And he thanks you greatly for your service."

"Tell him it was my pleasure." She replied, turning away. She had other duties to tend to around the camp, and didn't have the time to play with her Assassin as much as she would have liked to. "I am willing to help out. Anytime." She smiled once more over her shoulder before sauntering off.

Yusuf chuckled and shook his head, jogging away from the tiny Romani camp tucked into the corner of the great Constantine district. Playing around with Silki always made for an entertaining time, but just as she had other obligations to see to, so did Yusuf. And the docks bordering the Haliç weren't going to watch themselves.

As of late, the Assassins had noticed a great deal of activity taking place on the docks, in the dead of night. There was good reason why cargo ships rarely loaded or unloaded their goods during the darkened hours; namely, the often biting wind, and the increased threat of injury.

_So why…_ he mused, _have we seen Byzantine men loading and unloading goods from a cargo ship for the past several nights?_

It was a good question…one that Yusuf fully intended to know the answer to. Apparently his Mentor felt the same way, and had asked Yusuf to find out what he could.

Yusuf would venture to the docks that night as well, but during the daylight hours you can often see what you would not normally find at night. He did not take the rooftops that afternoon – the weather was beautiful, the sun still hung high in the sky, and the walk was an enjoyable one. Perhaps he would neglect returning to the den after his initial investigation; he could simply stay there – hidden, of course – and wait for the late-night cargo vessels to arrive.

Liking this new plan, Yusuf broke into a slightly quicker walk, enjoying the warm sun beaming down on him. He took a deep breath, but his relaxation was shattered by a woman's sharp cry. Shouts from several very angry men quickly followed. The Assassin grew tense, breaking into a jog. A short way from the docks, he spotted a small group of guards and a frightened merchant woman standing in a cluster; the men shouting, the woman stammering bewilderedly. Yusuf frowned, making his way carefully forward, hand cautiously moving to the dagger on his sash, just in case. He found there was a figure in the middle of the group – a young man, it seemed, and a foreigner by the look of it, wearing a long brown cloak. He was huddled back against a wall, clearly terrified.

"_Hırsız_!" The merchant woman shouted, accusingly. "He stole money from me! I want him imprisoned, _şimdi_!"

"_Evet, evet_." The city-employed guards closed in on the terrified traveler. Yusuf took a step forward, just as the cornered man pulled a thin, narrow sword from his cloak, taking his would-be attacker by surprise and drawing a thick gash in his chest. The man grunted and crumpled, dead, at the cloaked man's feet. Blood covered the dusty ground. In a panic, he swung at the next guard, the tip of the flying blade also catching the screaming woman across the upper arm.

Pandemonium ensued. Yusuf yelled to the man, but his voice could not be heard over the terrified screams of the stampeding people. He ran forward, dashing around people hurtling themselves in his direction, using his hook blade when needed to propel himself past them, but careful not to injure anyone.

The unknown man stared at his sword, then at his hands. All three were covered in blood.

Yusuf tried again to call to the man. He ran, hands cupped around his mouth in an attempt to carry his voice. "Hey! _Yabancı_! What do you think you are – " He stopped abruptly. The man had turned to face him, hands flying so fast they were but a hurried blur. His eyes were round with panic. Yusuf suddenly felt unable to breathe – a deep ache was spreading throughout his chest. He slowly looked down, catching sight of three long, silvery needles embedded in his chest. He stared at them stupidly, watching a thin trickle of blood leak from one of the deep puncture wounds. He looked back to the stranger, face twisted in confusion, before trying to take a shaky step forward and instead falling heavily onto his knees.

_Knives... no, needles..._ He blinked several times, struggling to clear his thoughts, his head seemingly unable to process anything more that was happening. There was pain, but nothing like he would have expected. _It should hurt more...shouldn't it? _Yusuf swayed, like a heavy limb caught between two powerful gusts of wind, before collapsing onto his back. He squinted in the fading light, seeing nothing but dark shapes moving around him. His breath came shorter now, until he was reduced to quick gasps. One particular blurry shape approached – Yusuf heard words, but could not comprehend most of their meaning.

"You are..._Assassin_?"

Yusuf managed a weak groan, his best attempt to speak, before the dark corners flooded his vision, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Yusuf came to, but the agonizing condition he was in made consciousness far less then desirable when compared to the alternative. He screamed in pain, arching his back against what seemed to be a solid oak table. He felt a powerful hold on both his arms, and fought the restraints wildly.

"Yusuf. _Yusuf_!" Bajram's voice broke through the foggy barrier, but Yusuf didn't respond. He clenched his jaw, making a series of guttural noises that barely even sounded human. Bajram flinched at the sound.

"_Biliyorum_, Yusuf. I know..." He looked worridly to Rafat, who held on tightly to the struggling Assassin's opposite arm.

"Keep him still." The stranger told them, voice heavy with the accent of an Orient. Bajram shot him a fiery glare.

"Just do what you have to!" He snapped viciously. "And do it fast!" The Chinese man's eyes narrowed, but it was well within his best interest to do what he could for the man he himself was responsible for injuring. All the while the Mentor loomed behind him, his eyes set in a steely gaze, jaw tensed. He said nothing, but Jin Mai could all but feel the anger radiating from the powerful Assassin. He'd heard rumors of Ishak Pasha's great illness – now he expected none of it was true. The man who had intercepted him upon his arrival at the den was certainly anything but weakened.

The Chinese Assassin returned to his task, carefully removing the first of the three thick needles. He had been sloppy…of course, it was for that reason alone that the Turkish Assassin – whose name he had come to realize was Yusuf – still breathed at all. The needles were designed to act as knives without a handle – they took up less room then throwing knives, and were more disposable, costing less to create more of them. Of course they were also very deadly, in that they did not create large wounds, but deep ones. At least, they were intended to. Jin knew he had been frightened, and had acted rashly. But the Assassin was still alive…he supposed he had that much to be thankful for. The Turks would have had his hide, otherwise.

The injured Assassin bucked and howled as the needle slipped out. Jin ignored this, pressing the thick bandages he was given against the puncture wound. "You lucky none of these hit your lungs." He said in what halting Turkish he could manage. "You would be not breathing if they did." He spotted one of the Ottomans snarl, but pretended not to see it.

"Hold him." He gave a curt gesture, and the deeply olive-skinned Assassin tightened his grip on the injured man's arm and shoulder. The other Assassin, a taller man with a scar across the bridge of his nose, followed suit, looking anxious. They _both_ looked anxious; neither man had seen wounds quite like these. Most puncture wounds were caused by knives, which were wide and long enough to kill most men within minutes, if not seconds. These were different…and not knowing whether Yusuf was going to live or die (and if he lived, what shape he would be in) was agonizing.

Jin knew the Assassin wouldn't stand any chance if he didn't work quicker. "Keep him still." He said sharply, removing the blood-soaked bandage. Even after several minutes, the wound had only just begun to coagulate.

"If he moves much, wounds will tear." He grumbled, concentrating. "Bring more pain."

"_Salak_, I think he's in plenty of pain." The darker-skinned Assassin hissed over Yusuf's continued whines and stifled groans. The Chinese Assassin opened his mouth to retort, but Ishak's quiet but firm voice broke through the noise.

"Bajram; do as he asks." Jin motioned a quick bow toward the Mentor, but Ishak's eyes were icy. He was not rebuking his own student for Jin's sake, but for Yusuf's alone. Bajram abruptly returned his attention to his friend, speaking carefully to him in their language as Jin began removing the second needle.

Yusuf screwed his eyes tightly shut, emitting a pained shriek with each sharp gasp he exhaled. "_Onları… onları çıkar_!" He managed to shriek, hands forming into tight fists. Bajram kept his arm wrapped around that of the struggling Assassin, pressing his free hand against Yusuf's sternum, in an effort to keep him in place.

"Do not fight, Yusuf. İt will end." He stressed, knowing his words would come of little comfort. He didn't know if Yusuf was even hearing them, to be honest. The second needle was gone – Jin was putting pressure on both the newly opened wound, as well as the first one, which had reopened. He began muttering in Chinese.

"...and you will need your energy to heal." Bajram finished. Whether his words helped or not, he owed his dearest friend whatever he could give.

...and if that resulted in swift punishment for the Oriental later on, so be it.

Rafat caught Bajram's eye and saw clear concern for their friend, but also fury. Jin Mai was certainly going to pay later for Yusuf's pain. He wondered briefly if their Mentor really planned to protect their fellow Assassin at all. It had been an accident...albit, a careless one. Hearing another series of muffled screams coming from Yusuf, Rafat made a quick decision. Forget the Creed... just this once. Jin absolutely deserved whatever Bajram might decide to do to him.

It was only fair.

"His mouth is bleeding." Bajram's own mouth suddenly went dry. If Yusuf was bleeding inside…there would be little hope left for him. The Chinese Assassin glanced over, baring the look of a disinterested man. Bajram seethed.

"He has bitten his tongue. To be expected." He replied curtly. "Now, hold him more still. One more to go."

Yusuf screamed and howled with the last needle, which had been a bit lower than the others, entering in just below the diaphragm, was carefully removed. Jin pressed the bandages tightly to his blood-matted chest, doing skilled work in wrapping them around his middle. Yusuf moaned weakly, his head falling back against the wooden table that supported him. Perspiration beaded on his flesh – Bajram picked up the teal and cream-colored head cloth that had fallen on the floor during the struggle to keep Yusuf still, and pressed it to his friend's soaked forehead.

"You did good today, Yusuf… Now rest." He murmured.

Jin backed away from the table. His part in this was over. But he had more than just an inkling that he would be facing serious consequences for his grave error.

_fars __prenses – persian princess_

_suikastçı - assassin_

_sevgilim – darling_

_yeterince iyi – well enough_

_benim __hanımefendim__ – my lady_

_padişah - sultan_

_hırsız – thief_

_şimdi – immediately_

_yabancı – stranger_

_biliyorum – i know_

_salak – idiot_

_onları çıkar__ – take them out_


	10. Roots ch 10 Angst

**Kostantiniyye**

**1491**

Yusuf came to with a faint whimper, feeling a tickling numbness spread throughout his body. He gave a thin whine and creaked open a single eye, but the light from the far window made him wince. He swallowed once, twice, than tried to speak.

"_Bahhj_….Bajj?..." _Allah_, his voice sounded terrible. Like he'd been unconscious for weeks. He tried once more to open his eyes, and squinted. He was in his normal sleeping quarters… He vaguely remembered having knives - _no, needles_, his foggy brain reminded him – embedded in his chest. And even more recently, he remembered them being removed, although that particular memory was quite a bit more hazy. He vaguely remembered blood, bandages, the soft clink of metallic tongs…an Oriental man with a thick accent, and Bajram's angry snarls. But mostly he remembered the stinging agony of the needles being removed, and the off-putting sensation of something being tugged forcefully from his flesh. Even now, Yusuf could still taste the copper in his mouth from when he had bitten down on his own tongue.

"…Baj…." He croaked weakly.

"Yusuf." The voice was not Bajram, but Yusuf was relieved to hear it none-the-less. Rafat approached the other Assassin's bedside, giving him a small smile.

"I did not expect you to be awake yet. Jin Mai thought perhaps another day or two…"

"Jin…My?"

Rafat's smile flickered away. "Yusuf." He started slowly. "Jin Mai is the man who almost killed you. He is an Assassin. One of us."

Yusuf's brow furrowed. "But..he...attacked me." He grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. Rafat leaned closer, resting his palm against Yusuf's shoulder.

"I know, Yusuf. _Biliyorum_. Believe me."

Yusuf wheezed tiredly, risking a glance at his chest. It was...not as bad as he had expected to be, to say the least. His chest and upper part of his stomach were tightly wound with bandages, but the blood was bearly soaking through. He groaned softly – it was too much of a strain to lift his head.

"I have been writing to Seref about your condition."

"Do not expect an answer." Yusuf groaned, his head swimming. "Where is Baj?... How long have I been out?..."

"A full day. Bajram has almost never left your side. He has been very attentive to your treatment." His eyes flickered to the closed door. Yusuf hissed in pain as he struggled to sit up on his elbows.

"Where is he?" He stressed.

"He went to...speak...with Jin Mai." Rafat's tone stiffened. "Yusuf, lay back do – "

"I need to speak with him. With Bajram."

"I cannot just let you just leave, Yusuf. Not in your condition." Yusuf's mouth formed a thin line, and he evenly met Rafat's eyes with his own.

"...then you can help me."

Bajram Sahin had never been so infuriated in all his years. Even when he and Yusuf were younger and feuding, he had never been this angry with a fellow Assassin. No...Bajram wouldn't even grant Jin Mai so priviledged a title. The man was nothing but a cowardly worm. Nearly killing a man simply for calling out...for trying to help. Assassins did not do that. They did not harm innocents.

Of course Bajram had no intention of killing Jin Mai. If Yusuf had died, of course, it would have been an entirely different story. No...Bajram simply wanted the foreigner to feel even a shred of the pain that his _en_ _iyi arkadaşım_ had felt.

Bajram had not left Yusuf's side until early that morning, after making Rafat give him his word that he would stay with the injured Assassin. Bajram had not told him entirely where he was going... He prefered to give him complete deniability, just in case. But Rafat was certainly no fool. And if he objected at all to what he suspected Bajram of doing, he gave no such indication.

Taking Rafat's support for what it was worth, Bajram made his way from the hideout's sleeping quarters to the main living areas. He knew Ishak Pasha was in his study, sending notices to his various contacts throughout the Eastern World. Jin Mai had been placed on the 'honor code' that he would stay at the den until Ishak could decide what to do with him. Bajram snorted in distaste. He would have had the Chinese man imprisoned, if he were Mentor. Not that he thought of Ishak as weak... On the contrary, he greatly admired the man who had first recruited him to the Order. However, perhaps a bit too much trust was placed into the wrong hands. But to his credit, and to Bajram's amazement, the foreigner had not left, although he had had ample oppertunity to do so. Bajram found him in the library of all places, glancing curiously through one of the Ottoman Assassin's many ancient texts. Bajram stood in the doorway behind him, glowering at the back of his head, until Jin finally broke the silence.

"I take it...you are upset with me." He noted quietly, without so much as a glance over his shoulder. Bajram set his jaw, eyes narrowed into little more then slits.

"I am more then upset, _aptal_." He replied coldly. "Which is highly unfortunate for you." Jin Mai finally turned, an opened book resting in his hands. He closed it, then heaved a sigh.

"I truly did not mean to hurt your friend." He said slowly, struggling through the difficult pronounciations and thick Oriental accent. "I was...messy."

"_Evet... messy..._" Bajram's mouth formed a fierce snarl. "First you arrive here in _Kostantiniyye_ without invitation. Then you are careless enough to create a disturbance, before severely wounding a fellow Assassin." He stepped closer, the rage all too clear in his dark, almost black, eyes.

"And you write off your actions as..._messy_." In perhaps one of the most insulting acts of disrespect, Bajram spat at the ground near Jin Mai's booted feet. "How about cowardly? Reckless? Offensive?" He leaned close. "What about traitorous?..."

"No!" Jin snapped, suddenly angered. He straightened up, although he remained at least two inches shorter then the taller Bajram.

"I am **not** traitor!" He snarled spitefully. "I make mistake! Honest mistake!"

"You almost killed an Assassin!" Bajram hissed back, slamming his palm into the wall mere inches from the Chinese man's face. Jin's instrincts screamed at him to thrust his blade into the man's gut, but he didn't exactly need to make the same mistake twice. However he was beginning to fear for his safety...if not his life.

"I did...not mean to..." He stammered, avoiding the enraged Assassin's fiery eyes glaring at him from under the Assassin's sharply pointed cowl.

"You did not mean to... Well, I suppose it's all fine, then. Everything is forgiven then, _arkadaşım_."

Jin Mai wasn't entirely foreign to sarcasm. The use of it made his blood boil, for he viewed it as being nothing more than a weak man's humor. His brow furrowed, but he kept his mouth closed. Bajram pulled his hand back, glowering at the shorter Assassin.

"I want you to leave... _git_." He loomed over the smaller man.

"Leave Kostantiniyye. I don't want to see you back here again." Jin stared up at him, hardly believing the audacity of a man who wasn't even a Master Assassin, much less the Mentor.

"Ishak Pasha will not be pleased." He said at last, struggling to keep the weary edge from his tone.

"Do you think he wants the likes of you amongst us?" Bajram replied testily, pure venom in his voice. "Do you not think he is planning, at this very moment, what to do with you?" Jin swallowed hard. As confident as he could be in his abilities, he was under no illusion that he could best an Assassin of Bajram's status. Still, he had his honor...and that was worth as much as anything.

And sometimes, people did stupid things to keep their honor intact.

"I will not go." He said stiffly, meeting Bajram's eyes. "You cannot force me."

Bajram's eyes grew wide, then filled with anger. Before he could come to his senses he struck out with his hand, his thumb and forefinger splayed as wide as possible. His hand collided with the other man's neck, just above his adam's apple. A shooting pain errupted in Jin's throat, cutting off his oxygen and bringing stars and tears to his eyes. He collapsed on one knee, coughing and choking. Bajram grabbed him by the tunic and pulled him back to his feet, fully prepared to strike again, but a sharp voice cut through the air, bringing Bajram's revenge to as sudden a halt as it began.

"Bajram!" Yusuf's sharp tone cut through the scuffle. Bajram jerked his head, startled, then narrowed his eyes as his badly injured friend came into view, his arm slung across Rafat's shoulders. His other arm was wedged firmly against his aching chest and stomach. The pained expression he wore was enough to make Bajram seethe with fury once more. _Allah_, he hated the Chinese man, so.

"Go back to bed, Yusuf." He growled, turning his dark eyes back onto Jin. "You should not be on your feet."

"This ends now, Baj." Yusuf tilted his chin to Rafat, who helped forward. Together they made their way into the library. Yusuf took several short breaths – Rafat had warned him not to breathe in too deeply, or he could reopen the wounds. His gaze fell to the frightened foreign man. Yusuf had never gotten a good look at him... He was smaller then Yusuf would have expected, but still about their age. He was clearly Oriental, and his clothing, which appeared like that of an Assassin and sporting the same deep hood and slight cowl, was otherwise unfamiliar.

"Jin Mai..." He said slowly, carefully slipping his arm off Rafat's shoulders. The other Assassin pursed his lips but did not verbally object. Yusuf turned his gaze to Bajram, and rested his hand on his friend's outstretched arm.

"Baj...end this." He said, quietly, but firmly. He gripped Bajram's elbow to emphasize his point.

"Yusuf, he almost killed you!" Bajram protested, not taking his eyes off the nervous smaller man. Yusuf took a slow breath, briefly closing his eyes, as if thinking deeply over what he was going to say.

"_Evet_. And I have already suffered for it. No one else needs to." He firmly pushed down Bajram's arm, managing to worm himself between the two confronters. Bajram stared at him, shocked. Yusuf managed a thin smile, despite the constant pain in his chest and belly.

"Not him. And not you, if our Mentor were to find out what you would have done." He murmured. "End this, Bajram." He glanced over his shoulder, quickly meeting Jin's nervous gaze, before leaving the two in silence. Rafat took his arm – noticing a light spattering of blood on Yusuf's chest that had not been there minutes before – and wordlessly helped him back out of the room. Bajram's eyes returned to Jin's, still angry, but lacking the murderous aura they'd held earlier. Without futher comment Bajram turned away and followed Yusuf and Rafat out of the library.

As their booted steps faded away, Jin let out a shaky whimper and slid down against the bookcase until he was seated on the chilly stone floor. His throat burned as he swallowed painfully, but he knew things could have turned out a lot worse. He hugged his knees tightly to his chest, unable to calm the trembling. Bajram could have killed him..._should_ have killed him, by all means... Why Mentor Ishak had not ordered his execution – or at least his banishment – felt entirely unexpected. Jin wondered if the Mentor had something specific planned...if he wanted to humiliate Jin, or perhaps the Chinese Assassin Order in general. Jin felt an unfamiliar swell of guilt bubble up inside of him. He was not used to the sensation, and it bothered him greatly. But what bothered him even more was the sudden realization of just how much shame he had brought upon the Assassins of his beloved homeland.

Jin Mai slowly climbed to his feet minutes later. He replaced the tome he had dropped in the scuffle with Bajram back into its rightful place on the shelf. He stood still for another minute, taking a deep breath. He understood what his conscience was telling him to do.

Eventually he stood outside the door to Yusuf's sleeping quarters. He'd broken into a nervous sweat on the way there, and was now using the fabric of his hood to dry the beads of perspiration settling on the back of his neck. Chewing wearily at his bottom lip and quickly praying that he wasn't inviting further comflict (his throat still throbbed and was very tender to the touch), Jin knocked quietly on the heavy wooden door.

The silence that ensued was longer then Jin had expected. Then he heard the soft scuffle of footsteps, and the quiet creak of the door opening. The Oriental's eyes went wide as he found the frightening, olive-skinned Assassin glaring down at him, with the look of a man who had just caught a thief in his home. Jin felth is heart skip a beat. But just as Bajram opened his mouth, Jin cut in.

"If I may... I would like to see Yusuf." His voice came out hoarse, and even cracked as he spoke the Assassin's name. Swallowing only caused the throbbing ache to worsen. Bajram's lip curled, and Jin felt his loathing for the man intensify. Then he caught sight of a shape moving behind the other Assassin.

Ishak Pasha. His Mentor.

Jin unconsciously straightened his shoulders, meeting the eyes of the one they called Grand Master. The much older man tilted his head in approval.

"Yusuf is here, Jin Mai. Bajram, if you would step aside."

The thin growl escaping Bajram's throat was largely ignored as the Chinese man slipped carefully past him. His knees were shaking as he walked. He briefly bowed his head to the Mentor before allowing his eyes to wander over the room. Little had changed since he'd been there just twenty-four hours earlier. The blood had been cleaned from the worn sheets – either that or they had been replaced entirely. The latter was the more likely of the two possibilities. The injured Assassin had been returned to his cot, but was at least able to sit up, although he leaned back heavily against the headboard in an effort to keep his balance. His torso had just recently been rebandaged.

The more olive-skinned Assassin cleaned off his hands in a small bowl of water near the nightstand, which was otherwise bare save for a small pile of twisted gauze. Meanwhile, Yusuf eyed his former assailant with the look of an exhausted, but vaguely interested, man. His head gave the slightest tilt, waiting for Jin Mai to begin. The Chinese man ran the tip of his tongue nervously against the front of his teeth before he finally spoke.

"Yusuf...Tazim." He struggled to say, the name sounding terribly foreign in his mouth. Yusuf gave the slightest of nods. Jin pursed his lips together a moment.

"...I have brought shame upon myself. Upon my Order." He swallowed. "I acted rashly. Did not follow ways of the Assassins. Please..." He bowed his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"...please forgive me. I did not mean my actions."

The silence stretched longer then Jin had been expecting. He hesitantly raised his eyes, and was shocked to find Yusuf with a crooked smile on his lips. Jin's face twisted in a mixture of puzzlement and nervousness, and then some degree of alarm when Yusuf even chuckled.

"You are a strange man, Jin Mai." He said at last, wincing from the ache in his belly made worse from the laughter. "I don't know why you arrived from China, or how you were able to get here by yourself." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "...you are not a traitor, Jin. You are untrained, and undeciplined. That, and making a mistake, do not equal betrayal." His eyes flickered briefly to Bajram as he spoke.

"I don't know why you came. But if you are inclined to stay, you will be suitably trained before partaking in any measures against the Templars." Out of the corner of his eye, Jin spotted Ishak Pasha nodding slowly as his long-time student spoke.

"...or else you may return to China. It is your choice."

Jin looked back and forth between the Mentor and Yusuf Tazim. He suddenly discovered how wise a man Yusuf was. Although he had only arrived days ago, he could already tell from the way Ishak was looking at his pupil that Yusuf would likely be made leader of the Assassin Order in Constantinople someday. Perhaps this was all a test that Yusuf was apparently passing with flying colors. Regardless, if Jin wished to have a place in the Order maybe five years from now, he knew his best chances at doing so lay with Yusuf.

Jin Mai straightened his back and shoulders and tilted his chin upward, before giving a respectful bow.

"I would be honored to stay, Yusuf. If you will have me."

_biliyorum – I know_

_en iyi arkadaşım – best friend_

_aptal – fool_

_evet – yes_

_arkadaşım – my friend_

_git – go_


	11. Roots ch 11 Graduation

**Kostantinyye**

**1494**

It had been far too long. A good four years, by Yusuf's count. An untold amount of time to an Assassin, however; even those young enough to still be blessed with their youth. He fidgeted warily, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not realizing his anxiety until Bajram's abrupt laughter.

"You are merely days away from being made a Master Assassin, Yusuf, and yet here you are, acting like a nervous suitor."

Yusuf scowled, but lightened up into a grin. He settled down beside Bajram. "Four years, Baj." He reminded his most trustworthy friend. "Four years since we parted, and not on good terms." His brow furrowed. Seref had eventually begun to reply to his letters, but her answers were few and far between. Rhodes was a greatly troubled island, and the Master Assassin Augusto kept her busy. She had only told Yusuf of her successes, and little of her failures, if she experienced any. Yusuf hoped that the past four years had been enough to erase the ill-feelings they had parted on, and that Seref had warmed toward him. Only time would tell.

The two Assassins kept their watchful eyes on the port, now seated on a slanted rooftop located high above the frantic commotion of the docks. There was silence between them as each considered what lay before him. Yusuf Tazim – twenty-six, and already one of the most accomplished Assassins in all of Istanbul. It was no secret Ishak Pasha was training him to take his place as head of the Ottoman Order, in time. And Bajram Sahin – only a couple years Yusuf's senior at twenty-eight, and seeing to the continued training of the students and recruits. Even Rafat Yilmaz had been honored with the task of seeing to the upkeep of the dens throughout the city, a constant occupation that overtook much of his time.

And Seref… it felt like it had been ten years since Yusuf had last seen her. She would be twenty-five now. Yusuf had even taken it upon himself to observe her last birthday, a token gesture that Bajram had taken to with a bit too much enthusiasm. It had taken him almost two full days to sleep off the affects of the celebration.

"_Bak_, Yusuf – I think that vessel is hers."

Yusuf squinted. "How can you be sure?"

Bajram shrugged, hitching one foot up against the slanted tiles of the roof as he leaned back against his palms. "Call it intuition."

"Seref might have something to say about that."

"I figured _you_ would." He dodged the cuff aimed for his head and lay laughing on his back. Yusuf chuckled, but his nerves were still on edge over seeing Seref again after so long. He leaned forward, eyes on the ship Bajram had indicated. There seemed to be some activity as passengers prepared to disembark, and crewmen carried off cargo. But then he spotted her – the hood, the robes, everything. There was no mistaking an Ottoman Assassin, even one that had been abroad for years. Yusuf slid toward the edge of the roof and hoped down, ignoring the startled gasps of more than one confused witness. Bajram joined him moments later, and the two hastened wordlessly to the docks.

Seref Polatli stepped off the ship, making her way easily down the ramp to the dock. She gazed up at the sun and smiled. Lowering her eyes, they came to rest on a pair of boys – of men – that she had not had the pleasure of seeing in a very long time.

Seref let out an excited cry and ran for them, throwing her arms around Yusuf and pressing a kiss to his temple. He blinked, startled, and she hastily did the same to Bajram before stepping back to catch her breath.

"_I__nanamıyorum_ – it's been so long!" She remarked breathlessly, her clear face flushed with happyness. "Yusuf, you have gotten taller! And Bajram...you've matured?" She grinned and danced away as the taller man made to grab her. Yusuf hadn't remembered her laugh being so lyrical. Her skin so tan, and her hair such a rich auburn color, which she now wore tied behind her in a braid that ran down her back, as opposed to letting it hang free in her face . The warm island weather had been good to her.

Yusuf stepped forward and embraced her tightly, thrilled to see her again, and even more thrilled that they had avoided the cold, sterile greeting he had been partially expecting. Her chin rested against his shoulder before she briefly cupped his face in her hands.

"And what is this!" She grinned. "Our Yusuf is becoming a man, Bajram. Really? A beard?" Yusuf tugged his face away, trying to look indignant.

"It suits me."

"Mmm." Seref tapped her finger against her chin, thoughtfully. "And what is this I hear about you training to become leader of the Order?"

Yusuf had the good grace to appear embarassed. "Really, Baj?" Bajram held up his hand in mock surrender, faking offense.

"I did no such thing!"

"Rafat told me." Seref said quickly. "But...speaking of Rafat..." For a second her golden eyes clouded with concern.

"He is seeing to the south Imperial den." Yusuf informed her quickly, not wanting her to worry unnecessarily. "Ishak has more or less placed him in charge of seeing to their safety. It keeps him busy."

"And out of trouble." Bajram supplied. "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for Yu – _ne __yaptınız__?_" He squawked indignantly as Yusuf offered a sharp blow to the ribs. Seref grinned widely.

"_Siz ikiniz_." She muttered, shaking her head. "I do not know what I would do without my boys. Come." She granted them both a small cuff about the head, indicating it was time to be serious once more. "I would like to see how our Mentor has been fairing."

Seref was overjoyed to find her Mentor in good spirits, despite the illness continuously taking a toll on his body. He was much leaner then she recalled, his voice not as strong, but he carried himself the same as any Mentor would. She bowed deeply, but was pleasently pleased when he greeted her with a warm embrace.

"Augusto kept me informed on your progress. He told me you were the most accomplished Assassin he has ever had the pleasure of working alongside." He told her, causing the younger woman to turn pink in the cheeks.

Rafat had arrived back at the headquarters by that time, something Seref discovered when his arms closed around her shoulders from behind. She grinned and twisted in his grasp, throwing her own arms about his neck and embracing him enthusiastically.

"I hear you have been keeping busy as well!"

"Everyday is a new challenge, and a new triumph." Rafat told her wisely.

"_Iyi söyledin_."

"I will give you time to catch up." Ishak offered, leaving the small group in one of the comfortable lounging chambers. The door was closed behind him, a strict sign to the students that the occupants were not to be disturbed.

The Assassins, on the eve of their assent into becoming Masters, spent their final evening as students in each other's company. And they had a lot to catch up on. Seref wanted to know how everything had turned out with the Chinese Assassin, Jin Mai, while Yusuf wanted to hear about the time Seref and Augusto had to dress up as bandits and and infiltrate a group led by a rogue Templar. Bajram kept cutting in with his own amusing annecdotes (mostly pertaining to Yusuf, much to the other Assassin's great displeasure), while Rafat was content to sit back quietly with his hookah pipe and soak up the stories.

The night wore on. Rafat had long since retired to his room, while Bajram lay snoring softly on a pile of rugs and pillows, his bangs billowing gently as he breathed. Yusuf stretched out his legs in front of him, leaning back on his hands. He regarded the comfortably cross-legged Seref with a tired smile.

"I cannot believe it's been four years."

"_Evet_..." She nodded slowly, fixing him with an odd look. "Yusuf... I couldn't help but think of the last time we parted." She quickly looked down. Yusuf quickly looked away, uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to speak but Seref beat him to it.

"I'm sorry if I came across as pushy, Yusuf. I just...I thought perhaps you..."

"_Yok_...Seref..." Yusuf swallowed. Here he was, only mere hours away from becoming a Master Assassin, after years of relentless work and heavy training. And yet, a young woman not even his age could cause him to stammer like a snake-oil merchant caught in the act. He cleared his throat, desperate to buy time.

"Understand, Seref. _Lütfen_." He paused. "Do...you rememeber when I told you that an Assassin cannot love...cannot devote their life to any one person, and still live for the Order?" He continued when Seref nodded slowly. "I really do believe that. I care for you greatly, _kardeş_. But to invite these feelings – to become intimate, Seref... Part of me wants to, greatly." He searched her eyes, feeling a sudden swarm of guilt at the pained look he discovered staring back at him. "_Inanın_. But I...I cannot."

Seref pressed her lips together firmly. She had no idea what to say, but anything was clearly better then the uncomfortable silence that followed Yusuf's admission, punctured only by the sounds of Bajram's quiet snores.

"Nothing will change your mind?" She asked at last, voice uncharacteristically small. Yusuf shook his head, but didn't move as she scooted closer to him. Then a small smile flickered over her face.

"There is something in there, Yusuf. In your eyes. I know it." She lowered her hood, the dimmed light from the candles burning on the walls illuminating the red-brown and making her hair glow a fiery auburn. She briefly chewed on her lower lip, the tips of her fingers brushing against the front of his tunic.

"Seref..."

"You can try to protect me all you like. But I am an Assassin as you are, Yusuf. I do not need to be coddled." And as if to further prove her point, she met his eyes, leaned in close, and locked her mouth against his. Yusuf forced himself to lean back but Seref followed suit, pressing against him until he lay flat on his back, and she found herself straddling his hips. Her breath became hitched, as his became deeper and relaxed. His hands came to rest around her waist, nestling against the small of her back. Seref carefully took his face in her hands, taking the oppertunity to deepen the kiss. Her lashes fluttered shut.

All was quiet until a muffled cough drew their attention away from each other. Bajram lay on his side, supported by an extended elbow. He arched a brow as they both started at him in startlement.

"_Ne_? You really expected me to sleep through all that?" He chuckled dryly, yawned, and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling in boredom. Seref blushed a bright pink, and Yusuf suddenly found himself wishing his _başörtüsü_ was three times as large and able to hide his face. Seref then emitted a sharp laugh, and Yusuf couldn't help but follow suit. They didn't even notice Bajram give a tired grunt and shift onto his side, doing his best to block out the offending sounds that continued to keep him awake. Eventually the laughter died down, however, and Seref begrudgingly climbed off the other Assassin.

"Just…think about it, Yusuf. _Bana söz_."

Yusuf had made up his mind long ago. But still he nodded his head in reluctant agreement.

"_Evet_, Seref. _Söz ver_." He tilted his head toward her and she smiled before leaving the lounge to retire to her own bedchamber for the night. Yusuf debated making way for his own cot, but figured if Bajram didn't mind them being found in the morning by his ever-curious young pupils, Yusuf certainly didn't, either. Besides, Baj seemed comfortable enough.

Yusuf joined his friend on the surprisingly plush pile of ornate rugs, flopping over onto his back and reaching his hands back to support his head. He stared up at the high ceilings, decorated with banners baring the mark of the Assassins, draped heavily over solid wooden beams. He let out his breath.

"It is not meant to be, Baj." He spoke into the darkness.

"...you can keep telling yourself that." Came the grumbled reply.

"I mean it. I don't feel that way about her."

"And yet..." Bajram shifted, curling up tighter. "...there you were. Letting her kiss you. And you weren't exactly fighting her off, Yusuf."

Yusuf sighed heavily, bringing his hands back to rest comfortably on top of his chest. "I know...I know. İ just...I do not have it in me to say no." All that Bajram had to say to that was a tired grunt. Yusuf stared up at the proud banners a minute longer before he allowed his own exhausted eyes to flutter closed.

Yusuf Tazim drew himself up to his full height. It was a momentous occassion for him, after all. For all four of them. He proudly puffed out his chest, briefly glancing down the line at his fellow newly-branded Masters. Of course they had been branded in the literal sense – the skin around the base of Yusuf's ring finger continued to sting and blister, but the pain was only secondary next to the swelling of pride he felt, finally becoming what his father had lived as over thirty years ago.

He caught Bajram's eye, who held his gaze and winked. He looked like a million _akçe_, decked out in his newly completed set of Master robes. Yusuf had already fallen in love with his own, and they fit him like a glove. _Or perhaps as comfortable as a well-made bracer_, he wondered in amusement. He glanced further down the line, catching sight of Seref, standing just as proud and with a tear or two in her eyes. And at the end stood Rafat, chin tilted high and eyes solemn, befitting the ceremony. Ishak spoke to the students and allies of the Assassins, reminding all of them of the values and morals of the Creed. Yusuf caught sight of Romo, the leader of the Romani guild, and near him, his dear Silki. She caught his eye, teasingly batted hers and blew him a kiss. Yusuf's grin widened.

"Always remember, my students." Ishak was saying, turning to face the four graduates. "Friends will come and go. Brothers, and sisters, will come and go. And I will not be here forever." He fixed them all with a serious look. "Rely on your friends, and rely on your brothers, and sisters. But remember that the Creed is forever. Never forsake it. Never infringe it. Never forget its true purpose, _benim öğrencilerim_." He fell silent for a minute, letting his proud underlings dwell on his words.

"Let it lead you, and guide you along your path to discover the Truth for yourselves. Yusuf. Bajram. Seref. Rafat. Seek not answers to the Creed, but the true meaning behind it." He then smiled, and a pleased glint shone brightly in his eye.

"_Tebrikler_, my students. You are now Master Assassins."

_bak – look_

_inanamıyorum – I can't believe it_

_ne __yaptınız__ – what was that for_

_siz ikiniz __– you two_

_iyi söyledin_ _– well spoken_

_evet – yes_

_yok – no_

_lütfen – please_

_kardeş – sister_

_inanın – believe it_

_ne – what_

_başörtüsü – head scarf_

_bana söz – promise me_

_söz ver_ _– I promise_

_benim öğrencilerim – my students_

_tebrikler – congradulations_


	12. Roots ch 12 The Game

**Kostantiniyye**

**1495**

Yusuf watched the eager young Assassin leap proudly off the vantage point, before plummeting thirty-two feet and landing safely in a large cart of hay. His eyes flickered in the direction of his apprentice's target, standing but a mere few yards away at a merchant's stall. The portly nobleman was blissfully unaware, too preoccupied with impressing the few scattered Romani women with his rings and bangles to hear the soft crunch of straw, or notice a man dressed in modest tan and off-white robes slip out, trailing fine particles of hay and dust.

The Assassin-in-training merged with the small crowd. Yusuf watched his face – noticed him make eye contact with one of the Romani girls, and tilt his chin ever so slightly. The women smiled at the condemned man and waggled their fingers before abandoning him to his fate. The nobleman paused, distracted by the sight of both women's impressive backsides as they swaggered away.

"_Simdi_." Yusuf whispered, knowing the young man was counting off the seconds in his head.

He struck. It was finely-timed, and his movements were appropriately subtle. His hidden blade entered in at the base of the rich man's spine, thrust upward in a single killing stab, then just as quickly retracted. The man staggered where he stood, and the Assassin slipped out of the crowd as easily as he had slipped into it. He made his way around the corner of the bazaar just as the frightened screams started. Yusuf stood up from the kneeling position he had been in and nodded his head, pleased. The kill had been quick, efficient, and clean. He turned away as a mob began to form around the Byzantine corpse. His apprentice had performed well.

"Master Yusuf? How did I do?" The young man's face was serious, but Yusuf could tell he was fighting to hold back the grin that threatened to escape. Yusuf nodded slowly, seeming to ponder the question.

"You slipped in and out without being spotted. The kill was elegant. You performed well. Ey, save for one problem."

The grin that had been just about to break through vanished abruptly. The young Assassin suddenly appeared indignant.

"What did I do wrong this time?"

Yusuf frowned slightly. "First off, do not treat my guidance as a chore to be endured and barely tolerated." He noticed with a certain amount of satisfaction that his student appeared properly humbled at his rebuke. Yusuf's expression and ton softened.

"But secondly, you risked letting your target see you when you leaped off a roof and landed all but a few feet away." He smiled lightly. "If he were not such a vain man, he most certainly would have spotted you. Take care with your approach, Soto. As long as your victim does not identify you, they will not flee."

The Assassin youth nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. "You make sense, _Maestro_."

Though Yusuf had received the Spanish youth, Casimiro Soto, as an apprentice all but four months ago, he had already found himself quite taken with the boy. While only eighteen, Casimiro had a sharp mind, and equally Sharp wit, and had already proven himself eager to learn. And to Yusuf's intense gratification, Casi had almost immediately jumped to the top of the students. But with talent breeds competition, and Bajram had more experience teaching then Yusuf himself did. Nasim Almasi was a highly intelligent girl, and already an artist with the crossbow, Bajram's specialty. Yusuf knew they would likely be Casi's greatest competition, although Shahin and Pembe, Seref and Rafat's apprentices respectively, were quickly coming into their own.

Yusuf couldn't help but grin – their students were as competitive as he and Baj had been. And they seemed to thrive on each other's friendship; Yusuf knew this to be as beneficial to an Assassin as bread and water.

The Master Assassin led his apprentice on a sprint across the rooftops, back toward the Galata headquarters. Casimiro kept up well, using his new hookblade to his full advantage and seeking out zip lines. Yusuf managed to stay well enough ahead, but he had to admit that Casi was getting faster with each passing day. Yusuf made a mental note not to forget honing his _own_ skills in the process of improving those of his student.

Yusuf reached the edge of the bazaar rooftop and leaped, bringing his hookblade around to latch onto a zipline. For a split-second he felt the wind rush through his hair and the blood pound in his ears – before he came to a neck-jerking stop. Yusuf kicked out, finding himself strangely suspended maybe thirty feet above the activity taking place in the mouth of the marketplace. Startled, he struggled to peer over his shoulder, only to hear Bajram's somewhat amused-sounding voice in his ears.

"And this, Nasim, is but one way to catch an opponent by surprise."

Yusuf growled, now understanding there was a perfectly good explanation for finding himself suspended in mid-air. The other assassin stood on the rooftop behind him, his hookblade buried in the back of Yusuf's tunic. He twisted, breaking the contact between the back of his tunic and Bajram's hookblade. The sudden movement also broke the contact between his own blade the hold it had on the zipline, resulting in the Assassin plummeting a good four yards before grabbing onto a small section of the building that extended out over the crowded bazaar. It acted as a supplier of cool shade on overly hot days, but on that day in particular, it seemed to also protect at least one bazaar occupant from meeting an untimely end via an Assassin's boots in his neck.

Yusuf gripped the fixture tightly, swung his legs hard, and pulled himself up. Cursing angrily under his breath he began to climb the structure, only to see Bajram soaring high above him on the zipline, followed closely by Nasim. Fighting back the urge to hurl a well-aimed stink bomb in his fellow Master Assassin's direction, Yusuf hauled himself up the last few yards, encountering his own rather embarrassed recruit.

"I am sorry, _Maestro_. But he – "

"No time." Yusuf cut him off abruptly, looking right peeved off. "_Hadi_. We'll catch up." Casimiro nodded, and the two took chase. Yusuf shot down the zipline, eyes zeroing in on the back of Bajram's head. Baj might have been able to catch him off guard, but Yusuf believed he was the more fleet-footed of the two. And despite Bajram and Nasim's massive head start across the rooftops, Yusuf knew the streets and alleyways of Kostantiniyye like the back of his own _bilek zırhı_. All he needed was the right opportunity.

His eyes flickered down. Without pause he pulled his hookblade away from the zipline, causing him to freefall. He landed heavily in a cart overflowing with rose petals, clearing out right as his apprentice dropped in after him. He nodded to the small group of women standing nearby, breaking into a cool smile when the one who was more familiar to him then all the others waggled her fingers flirtatiously.

"Come." Yusuf said quickly to Casimiro, who looked nothing if not confused. "I think now is a good time to introduce you to some friends of mine."

"_Teşekkür ederim_." Yusuf told the beautiful Romani woman, complete with graceful bow and kiss to the back of her hand. "I am forever in your debt."

"You were _already_ in my debt, _canım_." The woman Yusuf called Silki replied smartly, but seemed moved by the Assassin's gentlemanly gesture, nonetheless.

"_Kesinlikle_. Now, if you would excuse us."

"We will be ready."

Yusuf led his apprentice through the twisting Constantinople streets. Vendors cried out to them, eager to make a quick sale, but the Assassins had a far more important mission to attend to. Pride had been wounded. Retribution would be swift. Once they reached their destination, Casimiro found himself barely able to contain his excitement. Yusuf reminded him to be patient, although he couldn't even keep the hungry grin off of his own face. His apprentice shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot, but otherwise remained still. The Master Assassin heard a quick succession of thuds and raised his head just in time to see a figure – made dark by the blocking out of the sun – soar over his head and land gracefully in a thickened bush not ten feet away. Yusuf rounded back behind the corner, grabbing Casimiro's tunic and pulling him along with him. A well-to-do tailer began to proudly display his wares, but quickly closed his mouth when he received not one, but an identical set of seething glowers. He wisely decided to flaunt his fine Persian garments elsewhere.

For a moment Yusuf thought perhaps they had lost their Romani followers, but then Silki's heavenly purr caught his ears, and he risked a quick glance back around the pillar. Silki – along with two more of her Romani sisters – had quickly attracted Bajram's attention. Yusuf's smile curled into a smirk. Bajram could hound him all he wanted about his 'adventurous' nights in the Constantine District, but Yusuf figured the swarthy bastard got out almost as much as he did. The only difference was, Yusuf preferred the company of the dancing Romani women, while Bajram distracted himself with a lukewarm brew and a girl or two from the discreet brothel/inn in Galata. And lucky for Yusuf, Bajram was not nearly as familiar with their Romani allies as he was.

_Although he does take it upon himself to visit the thieves guild once every few moons..._ Yusuf mused thoughtfully. He briefly wondered if Bajram didn't have a regular _hanım_ of his own.

But there was little time for distractions. Yusuf watched in outright amusement as Silki glided up to Bajram's side, brushing her soft palm against his cheek and murmuring in his ear. Nasim tilted her head to the side and kicked a toe at the dusty ground, content to at least stop and rest for a moment. She would be the one to slip past... Yusuf was content that Bajram was fairly distracted.

The pair emerged from cover, careful to move quietly over the rocky, cobblestone terrain. Yusuf met Silki's eye and winked – for her part, she backed a couple feet away from the now thoroughly entertained Assassin and began to dance. Yusuf caught snippets of the conversation as he and Casimiro drew near.

"You really should come visit us more often." Silki was saying, concentrating on the slow, steady gyration of her hips. Bajram mmm'd in reply, watching her with a bemused expression. Silki smiled, turning around and peering at him from over her shoulder. She pursed her lips together, one hand beckoning to the Assassin.

Bajram arched a brow. "Normally I would never indulge in such affair..." He murmured, reaching out to lightly touch the dancer's fine hair - a dark cocoa-brown that perfectly matched the rich, deep hue of her eyes.

"...but there are rumors of a powerful Romani curse that seeks out and destroys those who anger them." He surrendered control of his hands to Silki, who placed them on each of her hips. She faced him, her lips dangerously close to his throat.

"I would not want to place myself in harm's way."

"That is true, Assassin. Although if I were you, I would not concern myself with worrying about the curse of the Romani." She smiled, placing a light, but rewarding kiss along Bajram's jawline, before letting go of his hands and stepping cautiously back. He looked to her, a subtle fog of confusion in his eyes, before something cold and primal flooded through him. He let out a sharp curse before feeling a sudden weight drop onto his shoulder blades, roll off his side, and then throw him to the ground, grunting loudly as he landed hard on his chest and stomach. The air was knocked from his lungs. He blinked, momentarily dazed as his lungs struggled to expand, and then succeeded. He gave a low groan, trying to draw his elbows under him in order to push himself up. He met only the firm resistance of a heavy figure seated on his back, directly over his center of mass.

"And that, Casi, is how you perform what we Assassins call a _hook-and-throw_."

"...by _Allah's_ name, Yusuf, if you do not get off of me this second, I will not be held responsible for cutting your throat." Bajram growled threateningly. For his part Yusuf barked a laugh. A short ways away, Casimiro beamed in triumph, keeping poor Nasim's arms wedged tightly against her sides. She was putting up little struggle – Casimiro was well capable of keeping her in check.

Yusuf took the time to lord over his friend and rival. He was enjoying this far too much to make it easy on Baj.

"Recall that you are not the only one who can sneak up on someone, Baj." He reminded the other Assassin over the annoyed rumble of unvailed threats.

"As for engaging assistance from my friend Silki," he grinned widely in her direction, and she responded by blowing him a kiss. The Assassin caught it deftly. "...it helps to make friends in the district."

"I trust you did more than just make friends." Bajram curled his lip, raising his chin up off his hands. He managed to force his elbows under his torso, but he was still winded from the air being knocked out of him.

"_Uzerimden in__!..._"

"I'm not finished yet."

"_Evet_ – yes, you are." Bajram retorted, pushing himself up. Realizing his fun was over; Yusuf was quick to slip off the downed Assassin's back, just in time to avoid a solid smack aimed at his head. He danced away, grinning wildly like a cat with a canary caught in its mouth.

"_Sadece bekle ve gör__..._" Bajram snarled under his breath. Yusuf nodded to his apprentice, who was quick to let Nasim go.

"You already got me, Baj." He responded cheekily. "Consider this retribution." He watched warily as Bajram proceeded to dust himself off and motion to Nasim, who joined him. She might have been caught as well, but she didn't appear to be in nearly as foul a mood as her teacher. For his part, Bajram looked pissed, but Yusuf knew it would fade quickly. His friend simply hated being shown up in front of his own student, something Yusuf could well attest to, himself.

"If you are finished annoying me, perhaps we could return to the den." Bajram offered lamely. Yusuf shrugged, careful to stay a healthy distance from the other Assassin. Just in case.

"_Sanırım_."

"I have caught word that Ishak's condition has been in a steady decline since this morning." That caught Yusuf's attention. Their Mentor had not been fairing well the last few years, but the last two months had gotten especially difficult for him. He now spent more time in his bedchamber than ever before, leaving more and more of his duties in running the Order to Yusuf. For his part, it pained Yusuf greatly to see his great Teacher in such frail condition. He spent hours with him, almost every waking moment he wasn't seeing to Casimiro's training, listening to his Mentor's stories and words of powerful wisdom. He sought to soak up every last ounce of knowledge from the man before he passed on. Yusuf was not naïve – he was under no impression that his Mentor would live on forever, although he knew from the shock on some of the younger men and women's faces that many of them had somehow believed that to be true. Whether Ishak Pasha had five weeks left or five years, Yusuf was sure to stay by the old man's side up until the end.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "And you did not tell me?"

"Where do you think we were heading?" Bajram replied with an arched brow. Yusuf frowned, but had to concede him that much.

"Fine. Then let's go."

"Mentor." Yusuf pressed his tightly fisted hand to his breast. Ishak Pasha raised his eyes from the scroll he had been pouring over, and motioned for Yusuf to seat himself. The Master Assassin chose a spot on the Persian rug near his Teacher's desk, crossing his legs comfortably and leaning forward.

"I had heard you were not well."

"I feel myself growing more tired with each passing day." The old man said wearily. "But still, I go on. It has not taken me, yet." The old man's mouth, well-lined with wrinkles and creases, formed into a grin.

"_Evet_, Mentor."

"Now listen." He pushed aside the parchment and quill and fixed his intelligent eyes on those of his pupil's. "I have made it no secret who I wish will take over the Order when my time comes. You have grown from a boy thief to a skilled man in so short a time. I am proud of you, Yusuf."

The Assassin felt his heart swell with pride. But he was careful not to let his enthusiasm show. The respect he held for his Mentor was far too great. This was an immense honor that Ishak was bestowing upon him – to receive it with blind eagerness instead of calm dignity would show only disrespect.

"Your words honor me, _Efendim_." He tilted his head respectfully.

Mentor Ishak Pasha took a deep breath and with great effort, pushed himself up from his desk chair. Yusuf immediately climbed to his feet, ready to aid his Teacher. Ishak gave no objection as Yusuf appeared at his side, taking some of his weight onto his own shoulders. He could see now that his Mentor had truly weakened a great deal, even in the barely fourteen hours since he had last seen him. How long a man could go on in this condition was unknown to Yusuf, but the Great Ishak Pasha was anything but an ordinary man.

"Allow me to aid you, Mentor."

"I only need to be taken to my chamber." He said tiredly, taking short, slow strides, leaning against his trusted and most gifted student. "Yusuf, for a man of my age and condition, leading the Order comes as more of a burden then a gift. My days, as they are, are limited in number. _Haydan gelen huya gider_, so they say."

Yusuf nodded knowingly, but remained silent. He had the feeling his Mentor was about to bestow upon him something great.

Ishak continued as Yusuf helped him maneuver up the mercifully gradual staircase leading to the sleeping quarters. "As I grow old, I begin to question my judgments. I am of sound mind, I assure you. Even in sickness, I am in charge of my own facilities. But what, I sometimes wonder, of the Assassins? I begin to think; perhaps I best leave the care of the Order to my most trusted protégé."

Yusuf gaped at his Mentor, finding himself frozen in shock, while Ishak took it upon himself to make himself comfortable in his chamber. Yusuf struggled with his words.

"Mentor, I...it's too soon... You are still capable..." Ishak held up a hand to halt his former student's stammering babble. Yusuf shut his mouth abruptly.

"It is **not**. Understand me, Yusuf Tazim – the Assassins need a leader who will be always at their side. Who will lead them into chaos with a steady hand. I have the will, Yusuf, but no longer the physical fortitude." He settled himself wearily on the end of his bed.

"You are what they require. You are ready." He smiled wisely. "And you will be a strong leader." He lowered his hood, preparing himself to rest for awhile. Yusuf swallowed. He wanted to speak...he tried. But the words knotted themselves in his throat, and he could no more force them out then he could drain the Haliç**. **

"It has already been decided." Ishak returned his gaze to Yusuf. "You will find my written decree on the desk in my study. Signed and dated." He chuckled quietly as Yusuf's continued shocked expression.

"You knew this was coming." The old Mentor said, a note of amusement creeping into his otherwise serious tone. He stood, stretched, and made his way to the entryway. "Go. Inform the others. If anyone wishes to take you up on the matter, by all means, tell them to confer with me."

Yusuf at last suddenly found his voice. "Mentor! It will be an honor and a privila – " He promptly found himself facing a firmly closed and latched door. A slow grin made its way over his features.

Yusuf Tazim. Leader of the Assassin Order in Istanbul.

He very much liked the sound of that.

_şimdi – now_

_maestro – master (sp)_

_bilek zırhı__ – bracer/wrist armor_

_teşekkür ederim – thank you_

_canım __– my darling_

_kesinlikle – absolutely_

_hanım – mistress_

_üzerimden in_ _– get off_

_evet – yes_

_Sadece bekle ve gör__– just wait and see_

_sanırım – I suppose_

_efendim – sir_

_haydan gelen huya gider_ _– the tide ebbs, and the tide flows_


	13. Roots ch 13 The SendOff

**Kostantiniyye**

**1497**

The funeral was anything but the solemn, dignified affair Yusuf would have done for him. It had been far too easy for the Assassins to forget that Ishak Pasha hadn't just stood at the head of their Creed, but had served as Grand Vizier and was a respected Ottoman General living a double life. His existence as an Assassin had remained shrouded in mystery to those who worked alongside him outside of the Order. Besides the Assassins, only a select few knew of both his occupations.

Yusuf wished terribly that he could give his Mentor the proper send-off the man deserved. But holding such a title in the public eye made that vision impossible. Instead, the Assassins were forced to blend in amongst the common people, catching mere glimpses of the ceremony as it was overseen by dignitaries and socialites. It infuriated Yusuf – his Mentor should receive a quiet burial on the grounds near Galata Tower; not made into a spectacle so that fat nobles could make up stories about how well they had known him and how it pained them so to hear of his untimely death, and so on and so on. Cue the waterworks. Yusuf would have spit at the ground he stood on, were it not for the high amount of respect and friendship he had for his great Mentor.

Instead of throwing a tantrum, he forced himself to attend the masquerade of a funeral, inviting any Assassins who wished to accompany him, while making it clear that he would not take any offense with those who chose not to take part. Most of the younger recruits, many of whom were far more familiar with Yusuf as acting leader then Ishak, stayed behind. But Yusuf, Bajram, Seref, Rafat, and a small number of others scattered themselves throughout the growing crowd, content with at least some measure of attendance.

Yusuf would host a small verbal send-off that evening, once he returned to the Galata headquarters.

Yusuf sat on a low wall bordering a courtyard, separating the church grounds from the rest of the district. He pulled one foot up and hugged his knee, letting the other foot dangle. He didn't need to move in closer – the last hours he spent with his Mentor were far more important than any hesitant peek into a casket.

His Mentor's last words rang in his head.

_Now it is your turn, Yusuf_, he had whispered, looking upon his saddened student with tired, yet intense eyes. _Whether you knew it or not, this is what you have trained for your entire life. From now on, Yusuf, they will look to you for direction and for guidance._

Ishak had slipped into a coma and died less than an hour later.

Yusuf felt the same chill now, sitting in the blistering sun, that he had felt then. It hadn't been until that very moment that he felt the weight of the entire Order resting on his shoulders. Even though he had been an unofficial leader for almost two years, Ishak had been at his side every step of the way, reassuring him of his decisions and acting as more than just a valued adviser, but a trusted friend. Perhaps something akin to the father figure Yusuf had never otherwise had the pleasure of experiencing.

Yusuf had his friends, yes. He knew Bajram would remain at his side and offer his own input; the other Assassin had a knack for playing Devil's Advocate, whether Yusuf felt it was particularly welcomed or not. Seref had seemed unusually preoccupied as of late, but Yusuf was quick to dismiss her odd behavior being attributed to Ishak's illness. And Rafat was a gifted strategist whose opinion Yusuf was always more than happy to seek out.

The four of them made for a powerful team. And still…the loss of their Mentor was indescribable. Yusuf felt a great ache in his chest that he feared may take years to shake.

One figure broke away from the crowd, making its way over to where Yusuf sat off, alone. The Chinese man pulled himself up onto the wall and wordlessly sat himself down next to his new leader. A lot had happened in the six years since Jin Mai had accidentally injured Yusuf. He had grown considerably – both in confidence in his abilities, and in trusting his fellow Assassins. And Yusuf was particularly pleased that he had mastered the use of his throwing needles (although Yusuf himself still preferred the reliable heft of his own daggers. It didn't help that he experienced a subconscious ache in his chest whenever he looked at the small, silvery spikes). Yusuf found himself proud of the man. He wished he could say the same about Bajram – having feuded more than once in the past, he and Jin seemed only to accept each other's existence, and that was that. Yusuf had hoped in time they would become closer, but if it wasn't to be, then it wasn't to be. Yusuf saw little point in fighting it.

He kept his eyes straight ahead, feeling his heart twinge at the loss of his Mentor. Jin shifted, making himself more comfortable – perhaps as comfortable as one could be, perched perilously on the narrow top of a wall.

"He was good man." He said finally. Despite having been residing in Constantinople for most of the last six years (taking extensive trips back to China only twice), he still struggled to express certain emotions in the new language. Six years ago, Yusuf would have attributed his few words and often abrupt tongue to callousness. But in time he'd discovered that it was simply the Chinese man's less familiar way of talking. Now it sounded entirely normal to Yusuf's ears. He nodded silently.

Jin looked down into his lap. "Good man… A strong leader." He pressed his lips together. "You will be strong leader too, Yusuf Tazim. You learned from a Master." Yusuf gave a tired smile, shifting his own position.

"_Teşekkür ederim, arkadaşım_." He replied quietly. He set his hand on Jin's shoulder. "Your confidence in me is truly inspiring."

The Chinese Assassin smiled lightly and tilted his chin. A sign of respect. "Someday, I would like to return to my people. Bring with me the knowledge you have shared, and the skills you have taught. Share them with _Cì__kè__Huì_." He grinned a little at Yusuf's baffled expression.

"The Assassin Order in China."

"Of course."

Yusuf lapsed into silence. The pompous ceremony had ended – his Mentor's body would be placed in a vault, far from where the Assassins would be able to gather. Yusuf hopped down from the courtyard wall, and pressed his closed fist to his chest.

"_Hoşçakal, Oğretmenim_." He murmured to himself, hearing Jin Mai echo his own fairwell in an unfamiliar tongue. Yusuf could not stay and mourn – he had an Order to attend to.

The relatively young new leader of the Assassins residing in Constantinople didn't seem to really have any idea what to do with himself. There was much _to_ _do_ – so much in fact that Yusuf found himself at a complete loss as to how one man had been able to do so much for so long. There were his own grieving Order members to tend to, the Romani to confir with, the thieves to relocate (in the forty-eight hours since Ishak's death, they had scattered and somehow managed to disappear off the face of _Kostantiniyye_), and the mercenaries to reassure. The duty of tracking down all of the late Mentor's old contacts also seemed to fall directly onto him, a task Yusuf couldn't afford to put off much longer. Not if the Assassins still planned on receiving a steady income for the next few weeks.

Yusuf groaned and dropped his head into his hands. It was all so much. The training – the burdens he'd been baring prior to Ishak's death hadn't prepared him nearly as well as he had hoped. Not that he had any real excuse. The man's death hadn't exactly been sudden.

"_Allah'ın adıyla__..._ How can I possibly do all of this?..."

"By relying on your friends, Yusuf. How else?" He felt a warm body seat itself beside him, and raised his head. Seref smiled reassuringly, while Bajram stood by with his arms crossed over his chest, wearily an authoritative look on his face.

"You've never carried the burden alone – why start now?" Yusuf tilted his head, then allowed himself a wry grin of amusement.

"Bajram – are you getting sentimental?" He received nothing short of a rude snort in reply.

"No. It should be obvious." Bajram scowled, then seemed to relax. "But...you needed to hear it."

Yusuf's heart warmed. "_Tamam_. Bajram – you've just volunteered to relocate our missing thieves guild."

Bajram performed an impressive salute and grinned. "I already know where they might be." He broke into a jog as Seref stood up.

"What can I do?"

"Pay a visit to the _paralı askerler_ to the south. Reassure them that the Assassins are still their allies." Seref bowed her head and took her leave. Yusuf stood slowly, taking a moment to stretch his arms and his back. While he would like to put it off until after, say, taking the time to visit the Romani camp, Yusuf knew now was as good a time as any to see to the mail his late Mentor had received just before his death.

The newly minted leader of the Ottoman Assassins made his way to Ishak's former study. Despite the homey atmosphere of the aging mentor's comfortable office, to Yusuf it felt like entering a tomb. He ran the tips of his fingers lightly over the wooden top of the writing desk before sitting down heavily in the available chair. A wave of emotion swept over the Assassin as he took the various small scrolls of parchment in his hands, eyes darting over the written script.

Yusuf's brows shot up. He furrowed his brow, then let out a tired sigh. He wedged his eyes shut, leaning forward until his forhead came to a rest against the aged wood. Why his first act as the new leader of the Assassins had to be this one, Yusuf Tazim couldn't hazard a guess. He sat back in the chair, raising his eyes to the ceiling and feeling utterly defeated. He stayed there for several minutes, dreading the job that lay ahead. At last he stood, making his way to the study door.

"Bring me Rafat." He told the fairly new recruit (one who had likely never even known anyone _but_ Yusuf as the leader of the Order) who answered his call. "If he is not here, send word that I need to speak with him immediately." The eager new apprentice nodded hurridly and saw to Yusuf's instructions. The Assassin retired back inside, eyes returning to the parchment. How long he sat there, staring, Yusuf was unsure, until his concentration was broken by a firm rapt on the door.

"Come in, Rafat." Yusuf shifted his weight in the chair, suddenly feeling uncomfortably confined. He stood up just as his old friend entered.

"Thank you for coming so quickly..."

Rafat's eyes clouded over in concern. Despite Yusuf's best effort to hide his dread, Rafat was too damn perceptive for his own good. Yusuf found himself silently cursing Rafat's naturally insightful nature.

"Tell me."

Yusuf gestured for him to sit. Rafat looked hesitant, but did as he was asked, carefully making himself as comfortable as he could on the same rug and humble pile of pillows that Yusuf himself had sat upon while listening to his Mentor speak. Yusuf took a deep breath.

"I take it the name Diya Karim is very familiar to you." As he expected, Rafat tensed and leaned forward.

"You know it is. Diya was my teacher in Jerusalem. He is a great man." Rafat's look of surprise gave way to nervousness. "...what happened?"

"Diya and two of his students were murdered thirteen days ago." Yusuf leaned back against the front of the desk. News of any Assassin's death was difficult to take in, but being notified of the deaths of three people, one of them a Den leader, was especially painful. Yusuf watched Rafat's face fall.

"_Üzgünüm_, Rafat... Truly." He stared down at his feet. "Rafat... Please listen. You studied in Jerusalem under Diya for almost three years. You knew him. You knew the city, and the trouble she is in." He paused, chewing briefly at his bottom lip. How to ask Rafat to leave the only city he had ever called home, to travel to one filled with grief and turmoil... Where to even begin? Luckily he did not have to – Rafat, damned mind reader that he was, sparred him the effort.

"You want me to go."

"You are the only one I can trust for this. There is no Assassin more suitable." Yusuf clarified. "You are more then my friend, Rafat. You are _benim kardeşim_." He sat down cross-legged beside the other Assassin, setting his palm heavily on his shoulder. "A brother. And while the very thought of losing you sickens my heart, it would be foolish of me not to ask you to go. Not when it can do so much good not only for our allies in Jerusalem, but the Order as a whole."

Yusuf could not lie to himself – he would be relieved if Rafat refused. Of course, that was something such a loyal man would never do. Rafat bowed his head, quiet for only a moment.

"It would be an honor, _benim kardeşim_. I make only one request." He continued at Yusuf's encouraging nod. "I would like to bring Pembe with me. There is much she can learn, and we have become close friends." Yusuf knew that to be an understatement – Rafat treated his fifteen-year-old apprentice as if she was his own daughter. He once confided in Yusuf that she reminded him of someone he once knew, although as to who that was and what relation she had had to Rafat (who had joined the Order just prior to his fourteenth birthday), remained a mystery.

Yusuf allowed himself a small smile. "She will be missed here as well. But by all means, she is allowed to go with you."

"_Teşekkür ederim_." Rafat seemed to relax a small bit for the first time since receiving the disheartening news. Yusuf climbed to his feet, offering a hand to his friend, who accepted it and rose as well.

"You have a week to prepare. I will arrange your transport. But once you reach Jersusalem – "

"I understand, Yusuf." Rafat firmly grasped the arm of the other Assassin. "The rest will fall into my hands."

A scant four years earlier, Yusuf and Bajram had waited at the very same pier to welcome Seref back to the Ottoman family. Now all three of them were bidding a particularly painful goodbye to one of their closest friends. Yusuf ran over a mental checklist of how the two would be transported to the greatly troubled Holy Land, while Bajram stood by with his arms crossed over his chest, and Seref pressed her lips tightly together and exchanged hugs all around. Pembe stood back as Rafat returned Seref's emotional gesture with an embrace of his own. Bajram took a slow breath, and nodded his head seriously, but when Rafat spread his arms and gave something of an impish grin, Bajram relented and awarded him with a monstrous bear hug.

When it became Yusuf's turn, he tightly clasped Rafat's arm in his.

"I know I don't have to remind you." He said, locking eyes. "Always stay true to our Creed. Teach others to do the same. And of course, take care of yourself."

"Why, look at you." Rafat grinned. "You even sound like a leader. _Harikalar hiç bitmesin_."

Yusuf resisted the urge to cuff his fellow Assassin about the head. It was a serious moment, after all.

Rafat and the young Pembe boarded the cargo ship. The three Assassins back on the pier allowed themselves a few disheartened waves until the travelers disappeared down below deck. Although they didn't leave until almost an hour later, when the vessel finally set sail and disappeared through the mouth of the Golden Horn.

Yusuf allowed himself a brief prayer for their safety. Though not much of a religious man, he figured it couldn't hurt just to be careful. He owed it to Rafat and Pembe.

Nearly three weeks later, Yusuf received word that both Assassins had arrived safely in Jerusalem, despite a pirate attack occuring overseas (Rafat did not mention it specifically, but Yusuf hazard himself a guess that the pirates had been appropriately dealt with, and would no longer be terrorizing anymore travelers). They had found a small host of allies at the old Assassin Den – all that remained of the Order in Jerusalem.

Yusuf leaned back in his Mentor's – in his – chair, and heaved a tired sigh. He wished Rafat all the best on the world.

_teşekkür ederim, arkadaşım – thank you, my friend_

_Cì__kè__Huì__ – Assassin Order (ch)_

_hoşçakal, oğretmenim_ _– goodbye, teacher_

_Allah'ın adıyla_ _– by Allah's name_

_tamam – alright_

_paralı askerler__ – mercenaries_

_Üzgünüm – I am sorry_

_benim kardeşim – my brother_

_teşekkür ederim – thank you_

_harikalar hiç bitmesin_ _– may wonders never cease_


	14. Roots ch 14 Tease

**Kostantiniyye**

**1499**

"One more! _Değil_ – no, two more. Possibly three." Bajram grinned, pushing the filled cup across the slick wooden counter hard enough to make its contents slosh from side to side. Yusuf took one sniff and pushed himself back away from the bar, wrinkling his nose in utter distaste.

"Baj! That's disgusting!" Bajram burst into laughter, echoed by Seref. "Besides, I don't trust that stuff. I'm fairly certain it's responsible for Seref's sickness."

Bajram unceremoniously shoved Yusuf's stool back into place, much to the other Assassin's protest. "_Adam ol_. You're turning thirty-one; you can't shy away from it forever."

"Like hell I can't!" Yusuf exclaimed, bracing his palms against the edge of the counter. But Bajram kept his stool legs planted firmly in place.

"Just try it." Seref encouraged, all the while leaning back and dramatically pinching her nostrils shut. Yusuf glowered at her, but obediently picked up the cup.

"_Piç_. If I keel over, I'm blaming you." Yusuf threatened his friend, before throwing his head back and quickly downing the cup's potent contents. He erupted into a coughing fit, setting the cup down so hard it almost cracked. The tavern owner scowled and took the cup, setting it down a safe distance away. Bajram rested his folded elbows on the counter before pushing the second mug over toward the still-wheezing Assassin. He interrupted Yusuf's startled protests.

"_Dinlen__!_ It's not so strong. I promise." He picked up the cup, waving it in front of Yusuf's face. Yusuf furrowed his brow and snatched the cup before Bajram could decide to spill it all over him. He cautiously sniffed the cup's contents before arching a single brow at his friend.

"…you're sure?"

Bajram jostled his elbow impatiently. "Just drink it!"

Seref watched Yusuf down the new cup, than set it back on the counter with a silly grin on his face. She laughed, pleased that she was able to see Yusuf so happy. Since Ishak's death, Yusuf had been working himself to death with keeping the Order together, keeping their allies sated and working on recruiting new members to the cause. Far too often he found himself collapsing onto his cot in the early hours of the morning, unable to remember precisely how he'd gotten there. Utter exhaustion was entirely normal. Which was why Bajram had fought him so hard when it came to taking him out for the night. Yusuf had been determined to stay at the Galata headquarters, but Seref was quick to assure him that the newly minted Master Jin Mai was perfectly capable of seeing to the protection of the Order for one night. Besides, he had Casimiro, Nasim and Shahin at his side, all of whom had really come into their own the last several years. Yusuf planned to promote each of them to Masters within the next three to four. They would be entirely ready, by then. But that particular night, Bajram had assured Yusuf that everything was one-hundred percent taken care of. And Baj's word was more than good enough for Yusuf.

"Let me get that for you." Seref gave him her well-practiced motherly smile and reached over, wiping off with her thumb the small dab of ale that had somehow found its way to Yusuf's jaw. She ignored his whine of protest and Bajram's amused howl of laughter.

"Unless, of course, you're planning on saving it for later."

"Speaking of later…" Bajram twisted around in his seat, eyes flickering around the room. Yusuf groaned out loud when Bajram waved his hand excitedly in the air.

"Ey, Baj, no…you didn't!..."

"Like I _wouldn't_." Bajram scoffed indignantly, as a stunningly beautiful red-headed Romani woman approached them, swinging her hips with purpose. Bajram stood, proudly raising his own cup with the most solemnly dignified expression he could muster.

"Yusuf – it would be my pleasure to introduce to you, the ever-striking, Aara."

Yusuf tried desperately to hide his reddened face, but Seref tugged his arms down, keeping them plastered to his sides. Bajram gifted the relatively scantily-dressed woman with an elegant kiss on the back of her hand. She traded winks with him before making herself comfortable on Yusuf's lap, hitching up her long skirts and straddling his hips.

"Mmm…Yusuf..." She murmured, running her silky hands through his thick black hair. "_God increases his power; his influence._ Not an uncommon name…but that of a man in control of his own fate." She smiled at his red cheeks and cupped his chin.

"Baj- _sevgili_. I think we are in need of another drink." She took the cup from him, raising it to the lips of her somewhat compliant captive. He shrugged out of Seref's grasp, took the cup and downed it obediantly, feeling the steady burn of the alcohol all the way down his throat and into his stomach. Aara liberated the cup from him, setting it down on the counter behind her.

"That is a good boy. Now, about this party... I hear it is for your birthday." Her full lips formed into an exaggerated pout. "And here I am, without a proper present."

Yusuf felt his skin growing hot – whether it was from the abundance of ale and wine or the beautiful woman pressed against him, Yusuf couldn't be certain. What he _was_ certain of was that if Baj was going willing to go through the trouble of finding his entertainment and purchasing his drinks all night, then by Allah, Yusuf was going to damn well enjoy himself. He rested his hands on the slightly younger woman's narrow hips, liking the feel of her mostly bare midriff under his fingers. He cleared his throat and regarded the Romani with a mixture of thrilled anticipation and mock solemnity.

"That wounds me deeply,_hanımefendi_. Perhaps I will be forced to accept something of an _improper_ present, then."

"You are so forgiving." She brushed his hair back from his face, before tilting his chin up and planting those fantastically full lips of hers against his. Seref burst into laughter as Bajram seemed to swell with pride. The kiss grew deeper and lasted long enough that Yusuf began to worry he'd lose consciousness, when Aara herself came up for air, looking rightly pleased.

"Bajram told me you were a handsome man. I had no idea you were so _talanted_, as well..."

"I imagine he wouldn't know." Yusuf replied, shooting Bajram a suggestive look, causing the other Assassin to snort. "But my lady, I am a Bursan, and by custom we are a passionate and bold people."

"Our mutual friend did not mention that, either." She grinned coyly, lightly kissing his jaw and throat. Out of the corner of his eye, Yusuf spotted Bajram trying to talk Seref into trying the same potent ale he had given into tasting, and her adamently refusing. The heat of his skin and the steady throbbing in his head was getting to him, causing the voices in the small tavern to all blend together, creating a dazzling cacophony. The intoxicated Assassin wrapped his arms around the slim waist of the Romani dancer, letting his hands rest on her perfectly postered rear end. She didn't seem to mind in the least bit. Her breath mingled with his as she wished him a very merry birthday, indeed.

The three revelers (four, including the enthusiastic Aara, for whom Bajram had also purchased an impressive amount of drinks for) did not leave the tavern until the earliest hours of the morning. How Seref, the most stable-minded one of the group (which was to say, she was able to walk without falling flat on her face), had managed to get them all safely back to the den, Yusuf hadn't the faintest clue. Perhaps just another hidden talant she had – herding drunkards around like retarded cattle. Yusuf vaguely remembered jumping on Bajram's back and yelling for a race, a feat that resulted in the two of them in the dirt, rolling on their sides, laughing themselves hoarse. Although Yusuf was thinking of denying that one when it would inevitably come up during dinner the next night.

Regardless, the Assassins and their latest Romani acquantance did make it back home unhidered. Aara trailed her fingers along Bajram's shoulders before making her way into one of the studies. Bajram grinned, wished Yusuf a slurred _Mutlu Yıllar_, and just as quickly disappeared after her.

Yusuf leaned into Seref, feeling a pleasurable haze settle over him like a particularly heavy fog. Seref hid her grin and maneuvered the leader of the Assassins over to the stairs leading up to the sleeping quarters. Yusuf balked at the stairs, but with Seref's (mostly) steady guidence, they reached the top landing in only a few minutes. Yusuf groaned happily, stumbling into his modest private chamber.

"You, Seref...you v'ry pretty...tonight." He produced, bracing his hands against the wall. Seref laughed, her own eyes shining. Yusuf thought her hair looked especially firey in the subtle candlelight. He pressed his lips together, reaching one one hand to ever so lightly touch it. Seref wet her lips, biting her tongue.

"Yusuf, I wish...I mean...I want..." She stopped, at a loss as to how to properly formulate her thoughts. Yusuf knew how she felt about it – she had never been exactly subtle in her feelings toward him. But always had he retreated back, unwilling to get himself involved with another Assassin. Seref, while frustrated, had done her best to understand and respect his wishes. But now he was touching her, seemingly facinated by the thin wisps of hair that floated free from her otherwise bound auburn locks. They two locked eyes. Yusuf, shockingly enough, was the first to act on what they had both been imagining – he grabbed Seref by the waist, tugging her close and kissing her deeply. Her eyebrows flew up, but she quickly let herself melt back against him, pushing at him until he backed into the edge of the chamber's large writing desk. Her fingers entwined with his before she brought her hands up to his chest, pushing him firmly back.

What kind of gentleman would Yusuf be if he didn't comply with such demands? He sat up on the edge of the desk, scooting back to make room for Seref, who comfortably straddled his hips. She whimpered lightly against his mouth, wrapping both arms around his neck. He gave a muffled whine in return, reaching up to touch that amazingly fiery hair. In the dim light, it appeared like she wore a halo atop her hair. Yusuf was mesmorized.

"I, er, nev'r tell you..." He stumbled crumsily over his words. "You 're..._so_ beau-ful."

Seref grinned wordlessly, tilting her head down to plant light kisses against the base of his throat. Yusuf tilted his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't realize his was being pushed further back until his spine pressed down into the top of the desk. Seref beamed down at him, her skin slick and shiny. Her nervousness, her conflicted feelings – all of it was gone. All she had remaining was a raw urge. Starily hungrily down at the Assassin beneath her, she knew – without even needing to ask – that he wanted the exact same thing.

"Bed. Yours." She managed the say, quickly climbing off him. She landed roughly on her feet, grabbing his arm. He rolled off the side, quickly taking a spill after landing. The two burst into identical fits of laughter, to the point where Seref was hanging off of him. She eventually calmed down enough to drag him over to his cot, effectively shutting him up with another deepend kiss. He responded in kind, hands gripping her upper arms, feeling the firm press of her palms against his chest before she took a tight grip on his tunic. He dipped her onto his modestly-sized cot, mumbling incoherently against her mouth.

"I think...uhh, I mean...I know..."

"_Kes sesini_." Seref scolded him, wrapping her fingers in his hair, elliciting a quick gasp. "Just...show me...how you feel. Right now." She brought his head down close for another kiss. Yusuf heeded her need, giving in to his own primal desire. They did not leave his bedchamber all night.

His head pounded, and for a moment the urge to vomit seized him. But it quickly passed, and Yusuf let out a low groan and creaked open a single eyelid.

It was bright enough to make him flinch. But he could tell he was in his bedroom. He lay on his stomach, sprawled across his cot. He remembered...flashes. Bajram pushing a sloshing drink across the alcohol-slicked counter. A beautiful woman settling herself into his lap before leaving teasing kisses across his lips. Seref...pushing him back against the writing desk, fingers splayed against his chest. Most everything else was a blur.

Yusuf groaned, trying to roll over. A weight prevented him from doing so. He craned his neck around, finding that Seref lay snuggly against his side, her arm thrown around his bare torso. Oh yeah. He remembered that part now, too.

Yusuf changed tactics, sliding out of bed along his stomach. He tipped over the edge, lost his balance and landed in a rather ungraceful heap on the floor. Ah, so there were his clothes. He dressed as quickly as possible before making his way out from his bedchamber. Continuous pain shot through his head, making him clench his teeth. The corridors were so fucking bright… He clasped his hand over his stricken eyes, using mostly memorization to get to Bajram's chamber. But upon pushing open the door, he found only the exotic Persian Romani woman from the night before. Ari…Aurora…something like that. She lay asleep in Baj's cot, sheets tugged tight around her lithe frame. Yusuf grit his teeth in pain, pressing on his eyeballs. He himself could barely manage to get out of bed and make it the twenty steps to Bajram's room – where in the hell could he have gone? Yusuf couldn't be certain, but he vaguely remembered Bajram throwing back a fair number of drinks, himself.

Yusuf left his friend's bedchamber, making his way back down the corridor by running his palm along the wall. Halfway back to his room he gave up, sliding down the wall with a heavy groan and landing on his butt. Yusuf dipped his head forward into his hands, doing his best to block out any and all sources of light. But sight is not the only sense to cause pain to the heavily hung over – the Assassin flinched when he heard a door slam and booted footsteps running toward him.

"Master Yusuf! What on earth? – "

"It is alright." He managed through grit teeth, trying his best to ignore the agonized pounding in his skull. "Where…where is Bajram?..."

"He asked me to tell you. I am sorry, but I did not want to wake – "

"What did he say?" Yusuf growled. The young apprentice looked startled, but then dropped her gaze.

"Early this morning he received word from Acre. His mother has taken ill. They…don't think there is much they can do for her. Bajram left as soon as he heard."

Yusuf slowly lifted his head, shielding his eyes from the painfully bright light. A heavy pit settled in his stomach.

"Bajram has gone to Acre?"

"_Evet, efendim_."

Yusuf rubbed at his eyes until he saw spots. By Allah, he wished he could simply will the damn pain away. He finally dropped his hands and rested his head back against the wall, eyes squeezed tightly shut. He heard the nervous apprentice shifted warily from foot to foot.

"Then he will be away for at least a month. Maybe two. Allah willing, his mother will make it through this."

"_Evet_, Master."

_adam ol – man up_

_piç – bastard_

_dinlen_ _– relax _

_benim bayan – my lady_

_mutlu yıllar – happy birthday_

_kes sesini – shut up_

_efendim – sir_

_evet - yes_


	15. Roots ch 15 High Stakes and High Prices

**Kostantiniyye**

**1500**

Bajram did not return in two months. Yusuf didn't even receive any word from him until one month had passed, at which time he learned that Bajram's mother had indeed died from her illness, just as he'd reached Acre. Yusuf issued his own condolences as well as that of the Order, knowing that Bajram's return would take longer than he had initially thought. Despite living so far from his family further East, Bajram had always remained incredibly close to them, particularly to his mother. Yusuf knew she had been his rock in difficult times, as evidenced by the volume of letters and parchments from her, which lay scattered around Bajram's bedchamber.

He'd been right. Yusuf finally received word four months after Bajram left that he was on his way back. It coincided with the day Yusuf and Seref sat down to have a talk, which Yusuf had later left feeling dazed and disoriented. The relationship between the two had been strained since the events of Yusuf's thirty-first birthday. It was at its worst for the first two weeks – the Assassins couldn't pass each other in the hallway of their Galata den without dropping their gaze. Yusuf felt ashamed for letting his drunken urges get the best of him – what had he been _thinking_, letting himself get physically involved with Seref? With a fellow Assassin? Why hadn't he chased Silki instead, or that pretty red-head Bajram had asked to join them?

Sitting at the desk in his study, Yusuf gave a heavy sigh that ended in a muffled growl. Now he was in far over his head. Over the last week he'd found himself in desperate need of advice from his long-time closest friend. But he wasn't about to burden Bajram with his own problems, while the other Assassin was still grieving over the death of his mother and caring for his bereaved family.

In a way, Yusuf thought himself lucky. His mother died when he was still fairly young. While it hurt him a lot as a child, and he continued to find himself missing her every day, he had healed from the sharp sting of the pain a long time ago. Now Baj was going through the same thing, albeit, also with siblings, nephews and nieces to care for. Yusuf wished he could have taken the time to visit him and help out, but with tension in Constantinople being at an all-time high, he couldn't leave for a day, much less a few weeks.

Yusuf brought his forehead down to rest against the desk, and closed his eyes. The Byzantines were taking increasingly greater strides against the Assassins. True, there were not many of them, but recently they'd been sending out small teams to try and track down and capture Yusuf's men and women. So far there had only been a few close calls, but it was only a matter of time until someone made a mistake (as often happens with inexperienced recruits) and found themselves locked in a prison cell. Yusuf worked day and night to ensure this did not happen, coordinating with the mercenaries and the thieves to keep the Byzantines as preoccupied as possible.

Yusuf sat back up again, taking a moment to unroll one of the new messages just delivered to him that morning. He smiled. _Iyi_, finally; some welcome news. According to the cargo ship's schedule, Bajram should be arriving back in Kostantiniyye in two day's time. Yusuf planned to meet him there on the docks as the vessels pulled in early that morning.

They had much to talk about.

Yusuf jumped, hurtling himself headlong into the air. He reached out with his right arm, extending the sharpened metal hook from his bracer. It met with the rope, keeping the Assassin from plummeting to the crowded streets below. Yusuf fought the wind for his breath. Each zipline decent was as exhilarating as the last. Yusuf had been performing these aerial maneuvers for years, and they had yet to lose their thrill. Somehow, the Assassin doubted they ever would.

His feet hit the warm brick of the rooftop and he broke into a run. He was late to meet Bajram – a shoddy group of Byzantine rats had banded together and managed to take over one of the southern dens, far from the Galata headquarters. The distance made it particularly difficult to defend properly, and Yusuf had been reluctant to launch a counter-attack with so little preparation. He'd been scouting the area with Casimiro and Nasim when they had come under attack by the thugs. Both had escaped without any injury, but the misadventure had set him greatly behind for the day. Leaving Casi and Nasim to finish the investigation, Yusuf made haste to journey back to Galata.

He cursed as he ran, feet thudding loudly against the sun-warmed rooftops. It was far later in the day then he would have liked. If Bajram was no longer at the docks, Yusuf supposed he would head to the main den first thing. The Assassin slowed, taking a moment to catch his breath. It was likely he'd already missed his friend come in… He began to contemplate returning to the den to meet Baj there instead, when he heard angry voices floating up from the street below. He drifted over to the side, leaning over the edge. His eyes widened – Bajram! And he was engaged in a fight between what seemed to be several fairly armored men dressed in red, their simple robes baring the Byzantine crest. And he wasn't fairing too well, from the looks of it.

"Damned Assassin cur!" The head officer snarled, gesturing angrily as his men attacked their already wounded opponent. "_Onu indir__!_" The soldiers closed in, while Bajram, grasping tightly onto a bleeding arm, glared at them all warily. He gripped his small sword in his free hand, although the blood loss he'd experienced made it difficult for him to hold onto it very tightly. Still, when the first man struck out at him, Bajram managed to bring his blade up to bare just in time. He backed away, wincing in pain as the soldiers continued to close in.

He was spared from what would likely be a gruesome onslaught when a similarly-robed figure leaped from the rooftop above, planting his booted feet into the shoulder blades of the nearest Byzantine thug, flattening him before finishing him off with a single thrust of his hidden blade. Yusuf stood, bracing himself against the three remaining attackers. His eyes didn't dare flicker away from the advancing figures.

"I think you know what to do."

Bajram reached into his sash and pulled out two small, bronze spheres. He hefted them with his uninjured arm; within seconds, the soldiers were enveloped in a cloud of thick, black smoke. Yusuf went to work, using his hookblade and dagger to slice through each and every one of the guards. The Captain was the last to fall – he gapped wordlessly up at the Assassin, eyes wide and sightless, a pool of blood spreading beneath his torn and ragged body. Yusuf sheathed his blades and made haste to Bajram's side, taking his arm.

"Somehow, I do not think this was not the greeting you had in mind."

"_Cok komik_, Yusuf." He coughed, palm pressed against his chest. Yusuf frowned, looking over his friend with a critical eye.

"You were wounded prior to this attack. What happened?"

"The cargo ship I arrived on was attacked this morning by pirates. There were...a lot of them." He coughed again, wincing at the pain in his side.

"So I see. You are sporting something of an interesting bruise on your head..."

"Ever the joker."

Yusuf clicked his tongue. "Not when it comes to your health, brother." He took Bajram's pain-free shoulder, letting the slightly older man lean against him as much as he needed to. Bajram exhaled sharply.

"I could use a drink, Yusuf." He grumbled.

"Trust me – that doesn't always work out so well." Yusuf muttered in reply. "Listen...when we reach the den...we need to talk."

"Anything. So long as I can have a cup and a hookah in front of me." Despite himself, Yusuf managed a weary smile. May Baj always remain _Baj_.

"_Tabii ki_."

They arrived back at the Galata headquarters just before midday. Yusuf let Bajram greet Seref and Nazim (apparently the rest of her and Casi's investigation had gone without anymore problems) before he informed Bajram rather firmly that he needed to be tended to in his chamber. Seref straightened up – she'd been looking over Bajram's injuries with a practiced eye.

"I will meet you there."

"Seref..." Yusuf struggled to come up with the right words. "_Lütfen_. Give us a little time. I promise I am capable of bandaging Baj's arm." Seref blinked, then furrowed her brow ever so slightly.

"Of course.."

Yusuf nodded and helped Bajram to stand. The other Assassin protested a little, but quieted as Yusuf guided him carefully up the stairs, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Yusuf recalled that he hadn't even asked Bajram about his family; so concerned was he over his own problems, he'd forgotten that Bajram's also needed tending to. The two made their way up the stairs in uncharacteristic silence, Yusuf supporting his injured friend all the way. They reached the top and Bajram let out a small groan from the effort. Yusuf helped him over to his cot, letting him sit down. He knelt beside him, carefully pushing up Bajram's sleeve and taking a look at the damaged arm.

"These cuts aren't long, but they are fairly deep." He furrowed his brow, taking a closer look. Bajram flinched noticeably.

"They're fine.. I made it here, _evet?_" Yusuf arched a brow.

"Barely." He ignored Bajram's sharp scowl and put pressure on the cuts, giving Baj a pointed look as the other Assassin inhaled sharply and jerked his arm away. Yusuf stood up, brushing off his robe.

"I am going to wrap it. And don't argue with me." He fetched the gauze while Bajram sat in silence, prodding at his aching arm. Yusuf sat himself down once more, taking great care to bandage the wounds. His first aid skills might not be as developed as Seref's, but he could certainly manage his own in a pinch. He worked in silence for a minute, letting the quiet build.

"...I am sorry about your mother, Baj." He said finally, keeping his eyes steady on his work. He felt Bajram draw in a deep breath.

"...I know you were close."

"I would receive a letter from her almost every week. Allah bless her, she never ran out of things to say." Bajram spoke softly, lowering his eyes. Yusuf was pained.

"I told my sisters I would be back in six months. Sooner, if anyone else shows signs of the illness. My brother Hadi is caring for them as best he can. But he is so young. He is barely eighteen. Still a child." The Assassin shifted tiredly, resting his now thoroughly wrapped arm lightly on his knee. Yusuf listened, content to let him speak. Bajram took a slow, aching breath.

"You know my father died many years ago. Now my siblings have no one." Bajram's voice sounded so wounded – so raw and yet, empty. Yusuf swallowed, slowly standing.

"They have you, Baj. As long as an Assassin is watching out for them, your brother and sisters will never truly be alone." Bajram glanced at him, quietly contemplating his words for a time.

"..._sanırım_. Perhaps you are right." Yusuf chuckled softly, despite himself.

"I _know_ I am right, _arkadaşım_. Now listen." Yusuf sat back down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands drooping between them. "You recall the little party you threw for me on my birthday. The four of us." He knew by the slow grin taking shape on the face of his friend that Bajram did, indeed, remember.

"I am afraid that...something has happened."

"Ey, Yusuf – I believe they call it a hangover. You get a little used to it in time."

"It's not that. It's...Seref and I..."

Bajram's eyes grew wide. "_Biliyordum!_ You sly dog! You didn't!" Yusuf rubbed the back of neck, chuckling weakly.

"I'm afraid we did more than that, brother." He replied warily, shoulders sagging. Bajram's cocky grin slowly disappeared. He paled almost as much as Yusuf had when he first heard the news from Seref herself.

"You...she's _pregnant?_..."

"Apparently four months, now." Yusuf said heavily. He really wished Bajram would close his jaw – and his shocked stare wasn't helping matters, any.

"But...it was only once..."

"_Evet_, well; apparently that is enough." Came the dry response.

"What else have you done?"

"I have taken measures to keep her here as much as possible." He spread his hands to indicate their protective headquarters. Bajram seemed to have forgotten all of his own problems, focusing on the seemingly more dire ones of his friend.

"You know she cannot be an Assassin, Yusuf." He warned. "Her being even here is dangerous."

"Believe me, I know..."

"Yes, but does _she?_"

Yusuf nodded dully. That had not been a pleasant conversation. Bajram leaned back on his cot, his good hand trailing back to his heavily bandaged arm.

"I...I cannot believe it. You, Yusuf..._siring children?_"

The slightly younger Assassin suddenly took on a more defensive tone, brow furrowed indignantly.

"_Kusura bakmayın__?_" Yusuf demanded to know. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Bajram grinned, slapping his friend's shoulder.

"It means I cannot believe you are going to be a father! Albeit, the timing is inconvenient, but– "

"It is something I never dreamed would happen." Yusuf said slowly, thoughtfully mulling over his own words. "Not for many years, anyway."

"Yusuf, you always knew you would be an Assassin your entire life." Bajram smiled, leaning far back on his good elbow, the other propped carefully against the thin mattress of his cot. "I don't know if you would ever be able to become a family man. I, on the other hand...I would like to have an _aile_ someday. A wife, and a few children of my own." He trailed off, staring up at the ceiling of his bedchamber. Yusuf grinned.

"You always were something of a romantic, Baj. Pity that you're too homely to make any woman a decent husband."

"Ey – you are lucky that I am injured." Bajram replied darkly, eyes throwing daggers in Yusuf's direction. He only chuckled, standing up from his seat.

"Get some rest. You've had a long journey, friend. There will be plenty of time later to find a woman who can stand you long enough to bear children."

Anayis hummed quietly to herself, feeling free to bask in the warm glow of the Istanbul sun. The other Assassins may have referred to her Galata patrol as _boring_, but Anayis loved it. She loved the calm days and sleepy nights in the most northern section of the city. Galata, more than any other district in _Kostantiniyye_, belonged almost solely to the Assassins. Sure there were the few Byzantines that dared to tread on Assassin turf (as evidenced by Bajram's recent arrival back to town), but they were relatively few and far between. The worst trouble Anayis usually found herself dealing with was the odd street scuffle or noisy disagreements between merchants. Most people would be surprised of what a mere bookseller was capable of if he felt another vender was closing in on his clients.

Of course, the assignment didn't say anything good about her abilities. Anayis was well-aware that she was not amongst the fastest, the strongest, nor the most intelligent of the Order. But she was loyal, and she was determined. And in the meantime, she took joy in the tasks she was given.

The afternoon was a particularly quiet one. She strolled through the few markets located close to the docks, having come down from her perch on the rooftops to purchase a small helping of warm _bazlama_ as a late lunch.

Before she knew it, a sharpened knife was at her throat. Anayis sucked in a breath but dared not move. She felt her wavy, dark-colored hair gently brushed back behind her shoulder, and she shuddered when a deep, sick-sounding voice rasped in her ear.

"A pleasurable afternoon, no? And here I thought _Assassins_ spent all their time hiding on rooftops." He chuckled. His laugh sounded like an ailing dog gasping for its last breath. Anayis felt her stomach roll.

"But here I see one has dared to join the rest of us flea-ridden, grubby-handed slobs." Careful to keep his blade pressed against the girl's throat, her forced Anayis to turn around. She found herself staring into the eyes of a Byzantine Captain – a tall, heavy-set man covered in armor. He was flanked by two fellow soldiers, one of which circled around her and took her roughly by the shoulders. She swallowed hard but said nothing.

"You understand that I would like nothing more than to cut your throat where you stand." He commented, almost idly. "However, I would be willing to spare your miserable, cowardly life if you do but a brief favor for me." Anayis forced herself to meet his black eyes.

He continued.

"Only this morning, my brother was murdered by one of your own." Both his hands curled into fists, and for a moment Anayis believed he was going to hold her accountable and pummel her senseless right there. But eventually the tenseness disappeared.

"He was killed for following his commands. Slain in the line of duty. And as I have received word, one Yusuf Tazim is responsible." He smiled sickeningly at Anayis' knowing reaction.

"Ah..." He breathed, the stench strong enough to make the girl choke. "So you know of this. Good..." He slipped his arm behind her head, forcefully grabbing a thick wad of her hair. Her head jerked back and she flinched in pain, crying out as his fingers entwined themselves tightly. He spoke, slowly.

"I want you to bring me this man. I don't care who he is, and I don't care what your relationship to the maggot is. I imagine you will be compliant, when I threaten to track down every single person you love and watch their blood flow away at my feet. **Every**. **Single**. **One**." He jerked her head with each of his last three words, causing Anayis' eyes to well up with hot tears.

"You don't...don't know..."

"Oh I know plenty." The Captain continued, fainting amusement. "The location of your precious den, here in Galata. In fact, as I speak my men are gathering in place for a full-on assault. Not one miserable Assassin life will be sparred, I can assure you that much." He took great pleasure in her terrified expression, before continuing.

"...unless, of course, you bring me but one man. The life of that cowardly worm, for that of my brother." He made a disgusted face. "It's hardly a fair trade, but a complete slaughter will only panic the rest of the wretched souls in this forsaken city." He noted bitterly. "So I leave the decision up to you. Either way, I will be satisfied." He let go of her hair, nodding to the soldier holding the girl by the arms. They returned dutifully to their Commander's side.

"And just in case you feel the need to warn your brothers and sisters," He continued briefly. "If I catch word that you've leaked this to anyone, I will go ahead with Plan B." He grasped her chin in his hand, tightening his grip until she squeaked in pain.

"_Evet_. I am glad we understand each other." He let go of her roughly, and Anayis reached up to tenderly rub her aching jaw. She looked at the man through pained eyes. She hated herself to the very core for doing what she was about to do. But she couldn't let him bring any harm to Yusuf. She saw only one way to prevent that from happening.

"I will bring him to you." She drew a shaky breath. "He's been injured and is weak. You...won't be able to miss him."

"Good, good." The Captain gave an ugly sneer. "Then go. Now."

Anayis turned and ran. Tears stung her eyes, blinding her. She stumbled but righted herself out, feet pounding against the cobblestone street just as the blood pounded in her ears. Her breath hitched as she ran and a harsh sob forced its way out.

_Forgive me, Bajram._

_onu indir_ _– put him down_

_çok komik – very funny_

_tabii ki – of course_

_evet – yes_

_biliyordum – I knew it_

_kusura bakmayın_ _– excuse me_

_aile - family_

_bazlama – Turkish bread dish_


	16. Roots ch 16 We Walk Together

**Kostantiniyye**

**1500**

Anayis ran, gasping for air. Her head flooded with images – Bajram, her teacher, showing her how to sneak up perfectly behind her target. Always reminding her to move slowly and take her time. Him standing beside Yusuf, trying his darndest to keep his prideful smile hidden as they watched his students perform what they had learned. She saw him lighting an oil lantern for himself and Rafat as they stayed up late, plotting how to foil the Byzantines and take back their prized den. Bajram was no strategist – not on Rafat's level, anyway. But he was more than willing to help, nevertheless. Even if he stayed up for several nights in a row to do so.

Anayis choked back a sob. She hated herself for what she had already made up her mind to do. But if she did not, the Byzantines would hunt down Yusuf, Bajram, Seref, all of her friends…and slaughter them relentlessly. Those hypothetical images overtook the very real ones of Bajram, and were all the more horrifying in her mind.

Perhaps Bajram would understand. Knowing him, he truly would sacrifice his life for Yusuf, or for Seref or Rafat. Or for any Assassin, for that matter. That knowledge only pained Anayis' heart more as she finally reached the headquarters, entirely out of breath. She doubled over, coughing hard. She finally straightened, wiping tears from her eyes. She had to do this… The safety of the den depended solely on her.

She forced herself to slow down as she neared the den. She couldn't appear to be in a panic, or suspicions would be raised. Instead, she forced herself to clear her head, wiped her eyes, and strode inside. She nodded to a friend of hers sitting at the desk in the main chamber before hastily making her way up the nearest flight of stairs and down the lengthy corridor of the sleeping quarters. She located Bajram's door and knocked several times in quick succession, chewing anxiously on her lower lip. She had to move fast, before she lost her nerve. Then she heard his muffled reply – a call for her to come on – and she carefully pushed open the door.

He was alone, as she had hoped. He was in his cot, resting on his stomach, reading a book from his fairly impressive collection. His arm remained firmly bandaged, the wrap stained a faint red, and a few small cuts and bruises dotted his face. She had always been amused by his addiction to reading - it was one quality that he and Rafat had shared. While Yusuf preferred practicing his skills and paying special visits to the Romani camp (just what _did_ he do over there all day, anyway?), Bajram liked to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea or any other drink of his choosing. It was one thing Anayis loved about him, just for being so completely out of character. Now she allowed the fear back into her eyes. She had to be convincing.

"Bajram! Come quickly – Yusuf has been injured!" She felt the sting of her own betrayal as Bajram immediately shot to his feet, the book giving a muffled thud on the rugged floor. Of course he didn't second-guess her or ask a handful of questions she wouldn't know the answers to. He took her at her word.

"Take me to him."

"There are not many." She said quickly, hoping he wouldn't suggest back-up. "But I can't handle the guard myself."

"It's alright." He assured her quietly. Anayis felt her chest tighten.

"He is near the docks. Follow me!" She led him from his bedroom and back down the brightly-lit corridor. Taking steps two (sometimes three) at a time, the two Assassins shot down the stairs and burst out into the early-evening sunlight. Anayis believed they were almost home free when she heard a familiar voice call out to them. She reluctantly slowed and turned, watching Jin Mai trot up behind them. He looked curiously between the two before his eyes settled on Bajram.

"Is something wrong, teacher?"

"Yusuf had been injured in a fight." Bajram informed him, not noticing the ill expression on Anayis' face. "We must move quickly."

The Chinese Assassin bobbed his head hastily and jogged beside them. "Of course. I can help – it is my honor." Anayis opened her mouth, desperate to come up with some kind of excuse for him to leave them, but Bajram interrupted her.

"_Iyi_. We can use the assistance." Anayis closed her mouth, swallowing hard. She quickened her pace.

The sun was just beginning the earliest stages of its decent when they reached the spot near where the docks intersected with the edge of the countryside. Anayis slowed, than stopped. Bajram and Jin followed suit, looking around. Bajram's expression tightened.

"Where is he?"

"I – I don't know." Anayis said, truthfully. She chewed her lip, staring around the quiet area. All at once an arrow embedded itself in the ground inches from Bajram's feet. He jerked back, reaching his grab his sword, but grunting in pain as he was rudely reminded of the condition his right arm was in. He grabbed the dagger at his hip instead, grasping it tightly in his left hand. Jin grabbed his own sword, moving to block Bajram's back. But they were promptly surrounded before they even had the chance to fight. Crossbows trained directly on Bajram, he narrowed his eyes at the proud Byzantine Captain that approached him. He'd have grabbed his own crossbow, had his shooting arm been capable of wielding the deadly weapon. He drew back the dagger, aiming for the Captain's heart. If he got shot after he threw it, at least he would have taken down the sneering bastard.

The Captain stopped, frowning. He motioned to Anayis. Her eyes pleaded with him, while Bajram stared on in mild confusion, but the Captain was adamant. Anayis walked to him, defeated.

"Anayis! What are you doing?"

"I'm so sorry!" She whimpered, as one of the Captain's men grabbed her, wedging his own dagger against her throat. She winced in pain at the grip he held on her. The Captain chuckled as Bajram slowly lowered the dagger.

"How pleasant." He sneered. "At last, I have the Assassin I have sought. And to think, all I needed was the proper motivation." He looked sharply to Jin, who still held a grip on his sword.

"Drop it! Unless you want the girl's blood splattered at your feet!" He snapped. Jin gave an audible growl, but reluctantly obeyed, dropping his sword to the ground.

"Now I have the man who murdered my brother." The Captain continued, eyeballing Bajram with dark eyes. "Yusuf Tazim… To think you had been so gullible to fall for such a simple trap."

Bajram's eyes grew wide. He opened his mouth, than closed it. Jin began to protest, but Bajram shut him up with a short hiss. He locked eyes with Anayis, whose own were wide with fear. The Captain continued, oblivious to the exchange.

"You can give yourself up now. I would recommend having your cooperation. But we are fully prepared to take you by force." The man holding Anayis tightened his grip. She gasped, struggling to keep the tears welling up in her eyes from falling down her cheeks.

Bajram glowered at the guards, who all raised their weapons against him. He dropped the dagger he was holding. The Captain nodded to another one of his men, who moved in to grab him. Jin snarled, moving quickly to block his path, but Bajram cut him short with a harsh word.

"Jin! _Hareket etmeyin!_ Let it go…" Jin wore a disgusted look on his face, but obeyed the commands of the Master Assassin. Bajram turned back to the guard, only to receive a heavy blow to the stomach. He doubled over, gasping for breath, arms wrapping around his middle. He felt two pairs of hands grab him and yank him backward, throwing him into the wall of a near shed. He grunted as he hit, falling down onto his knees. Jin tensed to go to his aid, infuriated by the treatment of his teacher. He was halted by two more guards who grabbed him by the arms, dishing out several blows to his ribs and shoulders. Anayis screamed for them to stop.

The Captain chuckled. "You have done well. I must say, I am surprised how easy it was to get an Assassin to betray those she cared so much about." The sick smile on his face made Anayis want to retch.

He nodded to the single guard holding her. "We've got them. Let her run home with her tail between her legs." The soldier shoved her away. Anayis stumbled, catching her balance. She looked toward Bajram, now sporting several new bruises to accompany those he already had. The two shared a look, before Bajram turned his face away. He was going to play the role in this that he was given. He was accepting of it. Anayis choked back a sob before breaking into a run.

Bajram saw the next blow coming and sucked in a breath. It hurt. The tight fist struck his jaw, near his ear. A sudden burst of stars erupted in his eyes, followed by a sharp ringing that echoed through his skull. He wanted to relax his muscles – let himself close his eyes and sink down to the ground. But an Assassin did not do these things. Instead, Bajram slowly climbed back up to his feet, taking in a slow, deliberate breath. Jin punched and clawed at the men holding him, but their blows were beginning to take their toll. He momentarily managed to shove them back, yelling desperately to Bajram.

"Fight them!"

"_Hayir_." Bajram closed his eyes. "Jin…it's over."

The Chinese Assassin gaped at his teacher. More than anything, he wanted to reveal Bajram's identity. But the Master had chosen his path – Jin knew he had no right to decide it for him. Bajram locked eyes with the younger man, driving his point home.

"Tell him this was part of the plan." He said as loudly as he dared. The soldiers didn't seem to be paying any attention to their words – the ones holding Bajram forced him toward a shallow stream that ran away from the docks. They yanked his hood back off his head, ripping the fabric. Bajram winced as two of the men grabbed his arms, their fingers leaving deep bruises in the flesh of his upper arms.

"You murdered my brother this morning, Yusuf." The Captain murmured darkly, his voice only inches from Bajram's ear. "You struck him with your blade and watched his blood flow. But by nightfall I will have sought justice."

"There is no true justice as far as the Templars are concerned." Bajram replied slowly. He flinched in pain as the Captain grabbed him by his hair, yanking his head back. His eyes settled on a distant bird soaring high above his head. It drifted in lazy circles, either oblivious to or uncaring of the exchange taking place so far below.

"You are so compliant." The Captain drawled, sounding reluctantly impressed. He tugged sharply on his hair, grinning with sick pleasure as the Assassin winced visibly. "I had been under the impression that you would fight for your miserable life."

Despite himself, Bajram gave a rueful smile. "_Hiçbirşey gerçek değil_." He quoted from his Creed. "That goes for my very life. For it belongs to the Order, and if it demands that it must end, so must I abide by it."

The Captain curled his lip, upset that his victim was so accepting of his untimely fate.

"_Everyone_ fears death." He growled. "Even the Assassins. Can you feel your heart racing yet? Your blood pumping through your veins? The terror beginning to set in?" He sneered, drawing his crude dagger around toward the flesh of Bajram's throat.

Bajram took a slow breath. His last. "All I feel is both pity and pride. Pity for the Templars and their flawed ideology. And pride that my role in this has been played to its fullest extent." Having said all that he needed to, Bajram focused once again on the bird high above. As he felt the cold steel press against the edge of his throat, he closed his eyes and willed himself to soar.

Anayis burst through the door of the den headquarters. She quickly shielded her reddened eyed and hurried for the stairs. Her startled fellow Assassins stared on in shock, but she didn't care. After what she had done to Bajram (and to Jin, she painfully reminded herself), she doubted she'd be allowed to remain an Assassin for much longer. If Yusuf didn't demand that she hang for treason, anyway.

She closed the door to her chamber, sitting down on her cot and sobbing into her hands. After a minute she heard muffled voices outside her door. Her heart sank when she recognized Yusuf's distinctive tone. Then came the careful knock.

"Anayis?" There was genuine concern. Anayis hated herself. "_Iyi misin?_" She drew in a shaky breath.

"_Evet_, Master." She lied. There was a pause, then the door pushed open. Yusuf eyed her critically.

"No you are not." He determined. He spoke slowly. "Anayis, what is bothering you?"

She swallowed hard, clasping her hands tightly in front of her.

"I have made a terrible choice, Teacher." She whispered, staring at her toes through watery brown eyes. "I feel forgiveness will never be possible."

The Master Assassin sat down carefully beside her, looking slightly alarmed. "You are a smart young woman." He told her with a small smile. "The Order has raised you well. If a terrible decision has to be made, then I trust that it was still the right course of action." He pressed his hand against her shoulder, and she trembled at his touch. She wanted to throw up.

Yusuf stood, making his way back toward the door. Then he paused. "Have you seen Bajram lately? His room is empty and I had not expected him to go – " He stopped, startled, as Anayis burst into a flood of tears and wrenching sobs.

"Anayis? What?..." He was interrupted when his apprentice, Casimiro, no longer a boy but a young man of twenty-four and reaching Master Assassin status himself, came hurrying toward him. He arrived out of breath.

"_Maestro!_ There has been a problem!"

"_Söyle bana_."

"We have received word from the thieves near the docks." He sucked in a breath. "Bajram and Jin have been captured!"

Yusuf's brows shot up. He looked to Anayis, who stared back at him with wounded eyes. And he knew. Maybe not the details, nor the reason, but he knew enough. Horrified, Yusuf backed through the door and ran down the corridor, his apprentice hot on his heels.

"Have Anayis detained. Then meet me near the docks. Bring whoever you can." Casimiro wanted to protest his Master going alone, but Yusuf's voice was dark and left no room for argument.

"_Si, Maestro_… of course." He stopped and respectfully bowed his head. Yusuf disappeared around the corner.

His heart beat rapidly in his chest, strangely in time with his feet thudding against the stone, as he sprinted madly for the docks. He thought little of a plan, or any specific course of action. And although he was not much of a god-fearing man, he desperately prayed to Allah to keep Bajram safe for just a minute longer; keep his capturers distracted a second more… He dashed up the side of market stall, forcing himself to stop, his chest heaving for air. His eyes locked on the first thing he saw – the figure of a man, lying face-down on the shore of a shallow stream. His head and upper part of his torso were in the water, while his lower torso and legs remained on dry land. The man was dressed in Assassin robes.

"BAJ!" Yusuf yelled, not caring if the Byzantines were nearby or if they had heard. He leaped off the roof, landing hard on his feet, and ran to the water's edge.

"_No!_ No-no-no-no-" He pleaded, collapsing on his knees in the soggy earth. He grasped the Assassin-clothed figure around the torso and tugged him out of the water, frantically turning him over.

Bajram's throat had been slit. Most of the blood had been washed away by the stream, but what remained was all the evidence Yusuf needed. He grasped his friend's robes, yelling unintelligibly into the wind, his eyes a sudden wash of hot tears. Bajram didn't respond. Yusuf held onto him tightly, his wrists and knuckles turning white. Bajram's face remained ashen, a sharp contrast to the deep brown hair that clung wetly to his forehead. Yusuf pushed it aside, pleading desperately for his brother to awaken.

Of course, there was nothing. Bajram was dead. Yusuf trembled where he sat, sobbing desperately. The soft crunch of boots on dead leaves did little to jolt him back to reality. The tip of a broadsword appearing just over his shoulder, however, did.

"_Bajram_, was it? Was that his name?"

The grip Yusuf held on his friend's soaked robes slackened. He slowly stood, taking in a series of halting breaths. And he turned.

The Captain wore a heavy frown. "And let me guess. Yusuf Tazim." He briefly glanced at the body lying on the shore before returning his gaze to the yet living Assassin.

"As revolting as I find the Assassins, Yusuf, even I must admit that he died with at least some semblance of honor. He certainly was loyal to the end." Over the Captain's shoulder, Yusuf spotted several of his men dragging a badly beaten Jin. They dropped him unceremoniously, and the Assassin gave a hoarse cry of pain. Spotting Yusuf, he began to yell incoherently.

"_Tā sǐle! Tāmen shāhàile tā! Tāmen shāhàile Bajram-!_"

"Shut him up!" The Captain snarled angrily, not daring to move the tip of his sword from being trained on Yusuf's chest. For his part, the Assassin felt only a freezing cold numbness. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to flee. He knew the Captain had murdered his friend and brother, but he could not command his arms to move, much less carry out an attack. The Captain eyed him in disgust as his men commenced beating on the Chinese man once more.

"So you will not fight. I take it you will be as accepting of your fate as he was." He drew back the sword. Out of the corner of his eye, Yusuf caught sight of a hooded figure perched on the same market stall he had vaulted over minutes before. He blinked once, then again. His Assassins had arrived, led by Casi.

"You are too late."

The Captain grit his teeth in fury, swinging the mighty blade. Yusuf jerked into motion, hot electricity shooting through his veins. He leapt clear of the attack, kicking out with both feet. His heels met the Captain's stomach and pushed. The Templar stumbled back, but his armor took the worst of the blow. Yusuf landed in a crouch, feeling pain vibrate through his oddly-positioned ankle. He raised his face – something he'd always cautioned his apprentice only to do with caution – and noticed the swinging tip of the sword far too late. It sliced through the left side of his face, drawing a thin yet fairly deep line across it, from cheek bone to jaw bone. He drew back in shock, but barely registered the pain. The Byzantine Captain charged, but Yusuf dropped out of the way, hearing the heavy splash the man's boots made through the water tainted with Bajram's blood. He grit his teeth, now feeling the anger begin to build. He whirled, pulling his dagger from his sash. Its weight felt reassuring in his grip. The Captain turned, snarling his challenge, and Yusuf took careful aim.

The knife flew. The Templar – Bajram's murderer – collapsed into the water, the blade of the dagger buried up to the hilt in his forehead. Yusuf left him where he fell, returning his attention to his fallen friend. With a trembling hand, he carefully drew Bajram's eyes closed.

The other Assassins made short work of the remaining Byzantine soldiers. Casimiro ordered Jin, whose screams had since died down into agony-filled moans, to be tended to while he himself hurried across the grass to Yusuf. He slowed, catching sight of the body by the water's edge. He let himself pant, not knowing the words to say.

"…I am sorry." He finally whispered. Nothing else seemed more appropriate. Yusuf carefully gathered Bajram's limp body in his arms, noting the startling calmness on his face. His expression was not one of fear. Not one of anger. But acceptance. Bajram had died accepting his fate. Despite the painful tearing in his heart, Yusuf wished more Assassins were that lucky. Casimiro looked dejectedly to his Teacher, wincing a little when he saw how his cheek had been laid open.

"_Maestro_... your face…"

Yusuf slowly stood up, his deadened eyes silently meeting those of his apprentice. He looked past him to see Nasim, Bajram's own apprentice, choking back heavy sobs. He dropped his eyes, feeling nothing but the heavy burden of loss.

"Not only I suffer." He said quietly. "Not only Nasim. This night, the whole Order mourns his death. It will feel his loss, and weep openly because of it." He bowed his head, feeling the overwhelming sadness bubble up from deep within.

"_Huzur içinde yat_, _Kardeşim_. _Baj_."

_iyi – good_

_hayir – no_

_hiçbirşey gerçek değil_ _– nothing is true_

_iyi misin – are you alright_

_evet – yes_

_söyle bana – tell me_

_si, maestro – yes, master (SP)_

_huzur içinde yat, kardeşim – rest in peace, my brother_


	17. Roots ch 17 Paying Tribute to Fallen

**Kostantiniyye**

**1500**

Yusuf had never felt so mentally, physically or emotionally exhausted in his life. For the second time in several months, he had little recollection of how he was able to return to the Galata Assassin headquarters. He remembered carrying Bajram's body from the docks all the way back into the city, where Seref had hurried out to meet them after finally being notified of Bajram's attack. He could picture her face – shock, horror, then grief – in his mind as clear as day. Her tear-stained cheek brushed his as she held him tightly, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. He'd let her cling to him for a moment or two, before gently edging her away. He shifted his hold on his friend's body and continued wordlessly toward the den. He also recalled Jin's low groans; despite the care Shahin and Nasim took in carrying him, the Assassin was in incredible pain. Whimpers and moans interchanged regularly with stifled shrieks and breathy cries. Seref, somehow able to separate herself from the same heart-wrenching grief that Yusuf was buried in, pulled Casimiro aside and told him to fetch the city's best _doktor_, and the only one who was entirely loyal to the Assassins, as quickly as possible. Casi hurried off, and Seref shot Jin a concerned look. If he didn't receive proper medical help – and more then she could provide – soon, he would die. It might already be too late.

For his part, Yusuf felt far away from everything going on around him. The cold numbness had crept back into his bones and muscles, making his arms and legs feel impossibly heavy. He shifted the weight in his arms once more, and blinked slowly as if to clear his mind. The entrance to the den was now in sight.

The reunion the Assassins shared was wrought with tears and muffled crying. The students mourned the loss of their teacher, while the older Assassins wept for the loss of a long-time friend and brother. Only Yusuf kept his sorrow inward, too numb to cry anymore. Instead he carried Bajram's body to the bedchamber, carefully lying him down on the cot the other Assassin had spent his nights in for so many years.

Yusuf sat down heavily on his knees beside his friend, letting himself sink deeper into shock. He didn't notice when Seref carefully sat down beside him minutes – hell, it could have been hours, or even days – later. She was silent for several moments before finally speaking.

"I cannot imagine what you must be feeling, Yusuf…" She whispered. And despite having loved Bajram as a brother, she never shared quite the same relationship that Yusuf had shared with him.

They had been closer then friends. Closer then cousins and closer then brothers. They had been more like two halves of the same person – two sides of the same coin. Now that Bajram was dead, Seref wondered if Yusuf had lost a huge part of himself, as well.

Yusuf only nodded dully in answer to her pondering. She swallowed, looking to the man on the cot. So still, so quiet – he hardly even resembled the Bajram she knew, now.

"Despite everything, Yusuf… I am sure that he did die with honor." She fixed him with her own sad, red eyes. "Jin…before he…"

Yusuf looked up to her sharply. It took Seref a moment to realize that he was misunderstanding her.

"No, Yusuf – Jin is alive." A weak smile just barely touched her lips. "Unconscious, but alive. That's actually part of the reason I came." She didn't need to tell him that the primary reason was because she needed to check on _him_. She shifted uncomfortably.

"Our doctor had been with him since he arrived. But it isn't good." She lowered her eyes. "He's broken both legs. His left hand and wrist. Multiple ribs. He's in a coma, but the _doktor_ thinks that…" She stopped, drawing in a breath. It was difficult to describe poor Jin's terrible injuries without feeling sick to her stomach.

"…he thinks that there's a chance Jin will not wake up again. If he does…he'll likely never walk." She stared at Yusuf for a moment before whipping her eyes. "I am _so_ sorry, Yusuf…"

"Everyone is sorry." He murmured quietly, gazing down at his hands, lying limp in his lap.

"…_herkes_."

Less than an hour before, Jin Mai had arrived back at the Galata den in a state of undying agony. He had drifted in and out on consciousness during the trip, but the extra hustle of the Assassins as they approached their den brought him abruptly back to the world of the living. He began to scream and cry in Chinese, leaving his overwhelmed caretakers to panic. It had been Seref's calm direction that kept them in line, ordering that Jin be taken to his bed immediately. The doctor – a respectful, older Venetian gentleman by the name of Ettore – arrived quickly, and ushered his shrieking patient up to the sleeping quarters without comment.

There he focused first on the man's bruised and bleeding head. Mostly bruises – he had been hastily informed by Casimiro that the soldiers had been kicking him in the head when he arrived. But there was a worrisome cut on his right temple, and Ettore pressed a clean rag against it, cutting off the blood flow and hoping to prevent infection. He quickly applied a small dash of alcohol to the wound, an act that caused the pained man to yelp and grit his teeth.

The doctor then turned his attention to the Chinese man's legs. It was clear that both of them had been badly broken. He carefully felt along each limb, eliciting heavy groans and stirring from the Assassin. Ettore frowned – if his patient did not stay still, he would make the injuries even more severe. There was also pain management that he needed to consider – although he didn't want to risk placing Jin in a coma purposely, only to have him never come out of it due to a concussion. But right now the man faced shock, and Ettore had seen plenty of men in his lifetime who seemed to succumb to pure agony. He wasn't going to add another to the list.

Ettore rummaged in his bags and pulled out several small, brown bottles. He uncapped one and poured an ounce into a small cup, bringing it to Jin's lips.

"Here. Drink. It will taste bitter, but it will help the pain." He withdrew it quickly when the Chinese man shuddered and threw his arm out, cringing in agony. A dull spasm shot through his torso and he wedged his eyes shut. Ettore set down the cup and went to the door, opening it. The small group of Assassins congregated on the other side did not surprise him in the slightest.

"Who here is particularly close to this man?"

A rather dark-skinned and quiet-spoken man – Shahin – glanced at the others before stepping forward. "I promised Seref I would look after him." He said slowly. Ettore nodded, ushering him quickly inside and closing the door behind him.

"Try to keep him as calm and still as possible. The breaks in his legs will not heal if I cannot properly set them." He noted the man's newly paled face and continued. "…I do have something for him to drink. It is a mixture of _laudanum and henbane. I can't give him too much, or I risk placing him into a coma he will never recover from." He gestured to the man, and Shahin took his place near his head. The Assassin was delirious with pain – he was moaning in Chinese, and Shahin hadn't the faintest clue what he was saying. He placed his arm across Jin's chest, keeping his arms pinned down as gently as he could yet still being firm. He took the small cup in his other hand. _

_"__Lütfen_, Jin. Drink this. It will help." Jin turned his badly bruised and flushed face away. Shahin swallowed – he did not want to force feed him the bitter-smelling medication, but even he understood that Jin would likely die if he didn't.

"Please..." He asked, one more time. Jin gave a weakened whine, and looked to him with an incredibly wounded expression on his face. He managed an exhausted nod, and Shahin braced the rim of the cup against the Assassin's bottom lip before helping him to take it. Jin quickly gulped it down before erupting into a fit of coughs. The doctor placed his palm against his patient's forehead, staring intently at Jin's eyes until his lids began to hover.

"I cannot ask you to try and rest." He said carefully. "But I can promise that this will be over as quickly as possible." He nodded to Shahin, who gripped Jin's arm, and began to work on the Assassin's legs.

Outside, all the Assassins could hear were Jin's moans. They sat on the floor of the hallway, pressed against the edges and against each other.

If Jin did not make it...Anayis would have the deaths of two Assassins to answer for.

It was Seref's best guess that the duty of making burial details fell onto her shoulders. She sent Casimoro upstairs to retrieve Bajram's body, while she remained in the main chamber with the other Assassins. Someone had already purchased a humbly crafted pine box, and sat it on the chamber floor. Assassins were not known for their extravagance, and unfortunately, death was a very real possibility for any of them. And although Seref preferred not to let her mind dwell on it, they needed to bury the body as quickly as possible. Only then could their shattered hearts begin to heal.

"Seref?" Two Assassins who had been with the Order for years – Pio and Jaspar – approached her cautiously. Between them they held onto Anayis' arms. The chamber became silent. The pale girl sobbed quietly, head bowed, unwashed hair falling over her face. Seref felt a new wave of anger.

"Is that what you wanted?" She demanded. "A dead Assassin on your conscience? After everything that Bajram has done for you, you – "

"I'm sorry…!" Anayis cried with a fresh wave of sobs. Inside, she felt as though her heart was tearing in half. "I didn't want to hurt him…but they threatened Yusuf and…I – I couldn't…"

"You couldn't what?" Yusuf's quiet tone reached their ears. He carried Bajram into the chamber, flanked by Casimiro. He fixed his steely gaze on Anayis's tortured face. And he felt no pity for her.

"You couldn't even consider coming to me about it? Instead you betrayed a fellow Assassin, and your own teacher?" His voice was steadily beginning to rise.

"Your deliberate actions have already resulted in one death. And, before the night is out, possibly one more!" He carefully lay Bajram's body in the clean box, atop a carefully folded sheet that someone had already placed inside. He folded his friend's arms over his chest, staring silently at his peaceful face before returning his grief-filled eyes to Anayis'.

"I should have you executed for what you have done." He whispered. "Your life in exchange for Bajram's. It's only fair." He drew himself up to his full height while Anayis cowered back, her pained whimpers reaching his ears.

"…but Bajram would never forgive me." He finished. "And I dare not insult his memory by doing such a thing." He drew in a slow breath. He had made up his decision.

"Let her go." He told Pio and Jaspar. He fixed Anayis with an emotionless stare. "I don't ever want to see your face here again."

She gaped at him wordlessly, tears staining her cheeks. Yusuf felt no sympathy.

"Leave us. Leave the Order. I don't care where you go." Everyone could hear the mixture of grief and anger in his voice. He stared straight at the traitor, who took a faltering step back.

"Go! _Çık dışarı!_" He yelled, eyes blazing. Anayis gasped and stumbled back, before fleeing the chamber, tears blurring her eyes.

She was no longer as Assassin. She was an outcast. And worse – she was a traitor.

Yusuf continued to feel numb all through the brief funeral they held for Bajram. When it came to the life of an Assassin, you really were lucky if your fellow members were able to bury you, much less hold a token funeral. So when it came down to it, Bajram was lucky in that respect. The Assassins dutifully carried his coffin to the cemetery near Galata Tower. There they lay him to rest, covering the simple wooden box with five feet of earth, which in time, Bajram's own body would become a part of. He would be joined with his beloved Istanbul.

Yusuf wanted to speak his sorrow, but could not. His mouth wouldn't open. His tongue wouldn't move. Seref gave his arm an understanding squeeze and, with tears in her own eyes, spoke a few words on Yusuf's behalf. But none of the Assassins needed to be told anything about the man. He had been greatly loved and highly respected by all. And they would all mourn their separate ways.

As the others eventually left to find solace elsewhere, Yusuf stayed behind. He nodded wordlessly to Seref, who smiled sadly and let him be, following the others out. The Assassin Leader sat on his knees at the foot of Bajram's modest headstone. He didn't need to say anything. If Bajram was present, in his own way, he would understand. Instead, Yusuf bowed his head until it rested lightly against the solid stone marker, his eyes tightly closed. He felt the sharp sting of his tears, but didn't fight them.

_I will miss you greatly, __kardeşim. May you rest in peace._

It was almost an hour later that Yusuf finally arrived back at the headquarters that night. He couldn't bring himself to sleep, and instead made his way to the rooftop of the den. There he stared off in the direction of the cemetery, as if keeping a solemn vigil. But his body was wrecked from the exhaustion and emotional trauma of the day. Stomach churning, Yusuf vomited there on the roof, both sick to his stomach, and sick at heart.

_doktor - doctor_

_herkes – everyone_

_lütfen – please_

ç_ık dışarı – get out_

_kardeşim – my brother_


	18. Roots ch 18 Visitation

**Kostantiniyye**

**1500**

Seref had informed Yusuf two days ago that Jin had finally awoken from his coma, almost seventy-two hours since he had first lapsed into it. Yet while Yusuf knew he should see to the injured man's condition – Seref had confirmed that Jin was in a lot of pain and suffering greatly – he couldn't bring himself to hear of Bajram's final moments. Not yet. Instead, he had kept to his bedroom, only leaving to take care of business in the study. Someone kept bringing him meals twice a day, and Yusuf tried to eat what little he could manage. It wasn't much, but it kept Seref from growing overly concerned about his health.

His welfare was his business, alone. Yusuf knew he should act more like a proper leader, but every time he attempted to focus on his work, his thoughts wandered back to his friend. He visited his gravesite each and every evening, where he'd sit for an hour or more, searching for the peace he'd hoped he'd discover. Strangely enough, he found himself unable to make the short walk down the hall to Bajram's bedchamber. _Perhaps it wasn't so strange…_ He thought to himself, unable to keep from analyzing himself. _The cemetery is as he is, now. His bedchamber – his robes, his weapons and his belongings – are as he was before. And that, I cannot bear to face._

In the end, it didn't matter to him, anyway. Seref saw to it that Bajram's chamber was taken care of. For now his things could stay, but in time, they would need to be moved. The Assassins were continuing to slowly grow in numbers, and someday soon another recruit would need the space.

Yusuf knew Bajram would tell him to quit stalling and do what he needed to do. But for Yusuf, it wasn't so simple.

_Give me more time, __arkadaşım__._

Yusuf sighed and rested his forehead against the smooth wood of the desk. It had been another sleepless night, like so many before. He found himself becoming strangely used to the lack of sleep.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. The door opened, despite his continued silence. Yusuf didn't have to look to know it was Seref.

"He has been asking for you."

"It's not time."

"It is." Seref fixed him with the same expression she had so many times before. He hated it.

"The Order may just cease to exist without my attention." He muttered, moving past her.

"I think it will last the next twenty minutes." She noted, unamused.

Yusuf made his way down the corridor several minutes later, careful to keep his eyes from crossing Bajram's now ever-silent door. Arriving outside of Jin's, he was surprised to see Casimiro sitting on the floor, back against the wall of Jin's bedchamber. The other Assassin climbed to his feet as his teacher approached, brushing any dirt or dust that might have clung to his robes.

"Apologies, _Maestro_."

"What is it?" Yusuf had spoken so little over the last several days, his voice actually sounded strange in his ears. He swallowed to wet his throat.

"Seref had asked me to keep an eye on Jin while she took Shahin and Nasim out to train." He didn't need to add that it had been two weeks since Yusuf had seen to his training. Yusuf reminded himself he'd need to make up for his absence some way or another.

Yusuf frowned a little – Seref was four months pregnant now, and had no business taking Assassins out for training. But Yusuf would deal with that later; there was little need to involve Casimiro in it. Instead, he merely tilted his head knowingly. "And?"

"…and make sure that you stopped by to see Jin." Under any other circumstances, Yusuf would have smiled. Instead, he only nodded slowly.

"And how is he?"

"He_ es…mejor_. He is doing better, _Maestro_." Casi shuffled his feet anxiously. "But I think you should speak with _el médico_."

Yusuf excused himself from his apprentice, moving carefully into the bedroom. His attention was immediately drawn to the badly injured man lying on the bed. His legs were attached to two splints, and wrapped tightly with linen. One wrist and hand were equally bound. Jin's torso was covered by a blanket to provide some amount of warmth, but even then Yusuf could see the man's labored breaths. Yusuf knew that Jin had been lingering on the very threshold of life for days, but even now…the severity of his condition shocked the leader of the Assassins. To see him now, like this, almost a week after…what had happened…Yusuf couldn't imagine what Jin had been like when he first arrived back at the headquarters.

Seref had said that Jin wanted to talk to him, but now the Assassin's eyes were screwed tightly shut. Yusuf started to back out, but a voice stopped him.

"He has suffered greatly for his Creed." Ettore said, in his quiet yet firm way. He folded his arms in front of him, studying Yusuf critically. "You should have visited him days ago."

"I wanted to. I just – " Yusuf cut himself off mid-argument. He held no excuses. The doctor was right.

"…I know."

"But you are here now." Ettore finished, looking content. He strode over to the cot.

"Jin. Yusuf is here to see you."

"It's alright – you don't need to wake…" He stopped when Jin's tired eyes fluttered open. Or rather, one tired eye fluttered open. The other seemed to be welded shut for the time being, courtesy of a massive bruise which had formed over his entire right eye. Several smaller bruises lined his jaw and cheek bone. Yusuf found it difficult to imagine the beating Jin had suffered.

Ettore cleared his throat, disapproval etched in his tone. "I would rather not allow this, but Jin begged me. He has not had anything for the pain this morning. He wanted to be lucid enough to speak with you." His forehead creased in a frown.

"You may speak with him. But be brief. I will administer what I can when you are finished."

Yusuf only nodded his understanding, and the doctor took his leave, closing the door behind him. The Assassin stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do with himself. Jin fixed him with an exhausted stare.

"…I was hoping…you would come."

"_Özür dilerim_. I know you have been waiting." Yusuf felt disgusted by his own actions. Or clear lack there-of.

Despite his pain, Jin managed the bare minimum of what could be considered a smile. "Please…sit…." He groaned, shifting his good arm in what Yusuf took to be a gesture of hospitality. Yusuf obeyed without argument, pulling over a short stool and sitting beside Jin's bedside. The Chinese Assassin's eyelids fluttered and he let his head slip to the side.

"You want to know about Bajram?..."

Even hearing his friend's name felt like a punch to the gut. Yusuf hunched forward until his elbows rested against his knees. It was terrible posture, but Jin's voice was greatly weakened and difficult to make out.

"I have to." He whispered, and he was ashamed at how his own voice cracked. Jin bobbed his chin once in a slow nod and began.

Yusuf sat in silence while Jin shared the story of Bajram's final minutes. He was adamant that the Assassin had died with honor. Yusuf was not surprised to hear of Bajram's sacrifice, but knowing that his best friend had been murdered due to a case of mistaken identity wrenched his heart.

"And he said… 'I feel both pity, and pride.'" Jin felt that Bajram's words would be forever seared into his mind. "'Pity for the Templars, and their flawed ideology. Pride, as my role in this has been fulfilled.'" He looked to Yusuf with pained eyes.

"This is my fault." His voice came out a throaty whisper. "Bajram took me along to help him. And I failed to save his life. I let them slit his throat. I – " Yusuf leaned forward, his own voice suddenly strict.

"None of this is your fault, Jin. Anayis is to blame for her betrayal. The Byzantines are blame for their cruelty. Not you."

Jin opened his mouth to reply, but the pain in his legs and chest that had been steadily building all morning spread like fire throughout his lean frame. He groaned, clenching his one good fist. Yusuf looked on in worry.

"You should take the doctor's medicine."

"The pain never subsides." Jin replied tiredly, taking a series of halting breaths. Yusuf sat on the edge of the stool, looking over the Assassin's broken and bruise body.

"…what did they do to you…" He murmured to himself, unable to believe the extent of the damage. Jin's eyes fluttered before warily fixating on the Master Assassin.

"Even as they kicked and punched at me, it was their words that drew the most pain." He whispered. Yusuf already had an inkling as to what he meant – a Chinese man in Kostantiniyye was often a target for ridicule, if not outright violence. Of course the Assassins prided themselves on tolerance, but outside the den, Yusuf had overheard more comments concerning Jin's ethnicity while working with him then he cared to hear. Of course the Byzantine thugs had jumped on any opportunity to belittle their target…even if he had already suffered horribly from their abuse.

Yusuf closed his eyes a moment. He couldn't say anything to make Jin's pain go away, whether physical or emotional. All he could do was play the role that he was handed when his Mentor died. Yusuf carefully placed his hand on Jin's shoulder, giving a small squeeze.

"You were strong, Jin. Stronger then perhaps I would have been, in your shoes." Jin started to answer, but emitted a startled hiss of pain instead, as agony shot through his legs. He moaned loudly, and Yusuf backed up several steps from the cot as he heard the doctor reenter the room.

"Please. He needs to rest." Ettore said hurriedly, going for his bottles and a cup. The leader of the Assassins sent Jin one last concerned look before silently leaving. The doctor was right.

"_Filthy dog!" The Byzantine soldier snarled, bringing his heavy boot down on the Chinese Assassin's ribs. Jin heard a loud crack, and screamed his pain. The surrounding soldiers laughed and continued to taunt him relentlessly. Jin had heard all the words before, but they continued to sting, none-the-less. He groaned, rolling onto his good side and wrapping his arms weakly around his torso. The added protection did him little good – the soldiers kicked and stomped at his legs. Jin's hoarse screams did nothing to halt them – they went on in good humor, until his right one lay badly broken, and Jin had passed out. _

_One of the three guards stepped back, whipping beads of sweat from his forehead. He grinned, breathing hard. "Wake him."_

_Water from the nearby stream was poured over his head. It elicited a short moan from the Assassin, followed by several deep coughs as drops of the liquid entered his lungs. Jin's eyes fluttered open, just in time to see a beefy Byzantine hand grab his throat, squeezing forcefully. _

"_It will be time for you to die soon enough, Assassin pig." He snarled, tightening his grip until the Chinese man's lids began to hover once more. Only then did he let go, pushing the badly injured man back down to the ground. Jin landed hard on his newly broken ribs and sucked in a stunned breath. _

"_Nǐ shāle tā…" He whispered painfully, barely able to draw in any air. _

"_We don't speak Dog!" The soldier snarled, as the others laughed mockingly. Jin slowly rotated onto his front, managing to hold himself up on his elbows. His right leg was useless; the pain almost intolerable. Jin swallowed hard, in a filmy haze, struggling to remember the proper Turkish words._

"…_you murdered him." He finally managed to say, his fingers grasping at the loose dirt. This elicited yet another strong laugh from the men, and Jin had to wonder just what was so damn funny. He gave up trying to get anywhere, and let himself sink back down to the ground. What little respite he had, however, was shattered when a heavy boot crashed down atop his left wrist, bringing forth a loud snap. The echo of the sound in Jin's head was overtaken by his own scream, drowning out even the hearty chuckles of the soldiers. _

_Jin's brain grew foggy. His breath shorter. The images of Bajram's death played out in his head like a series of pictures moving steadily forward. Blood spilling from his throat. The Master Assassin falling heavily to his knees, than pitching forward into the water. The Byzantines had cheered when his body hit the stream, but in Jin's eyes the other Assassin had truly gone with dignity. He had seen no regret in Bajram's eyes. _

_How he wished he could die the same way. Not a frail, broken mess of cuts and bruises and shattered bones. But strong. Jin drew in a labored breath, dimly aware that he was now being dragged along the ground. For a brief second, his eyes locked on to none other than Yusuf's, and he managed one last desperate cry before the predicted beating once more commenced. He felt another jerk in his left leg – another crack echo in his skull – before he once again let go of his own consciousness. _

Jin's eyes flew open and he gasped, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Even the slight shift in movement brought a fresh wave of agony through his tortured limbs. Panic set in – Jin could see only darkness, and for several terrified moments he thought himself blind. Then a quiet, yet firm, voice put his frail mind at ease.

"_Dinlen_, Jin. You are safe." Jin heard a soft creak as Yusuf shifted atop his stool. Jin realized it was dark because it was night; he had not been blinded. It seemed like it'd be an obvious conclusion to come to, but Jin had found himself unable to think clearly these last several days. His mind was a jumble of flashbacks and strange dreams; partially from the pain, and partially, Jin suspected, from the strange concoction Ettore had been giving to him. And Jin had thought that denying the alcohol would have set his mind at peace. The Chinese man knew alcohol poisoned the body, and while he had no qualms against the Turks partaking in the substance, he had remained adamant to the doctor that he not be given it at all.

It would seem that his mixture of laudanum and henbane was enough, though. Jin would refuse to take it as well, were it not for the doctor's warnings that he would perish if he did. Jin really didn't want to die…even the torture hadn't been enough to make him want to.

Yusuf's voice again broke through his thoughts.

"Try to sleep again. I will be here when you wake up."

"I see too much when I close my eyes." Jin whispered, but the exhaustion had taken its toll, and his eyes fluttered closed once more. Yusuf remained close by his bedside, leaning his head back against the wall. It was the first time in a week that he did not venture to Bajram's grave. He hoped that his departed brother would understand.

_arkadaşım – my friend_

_maestro – master (SP)_

_es…mejor – he is better (SP) _

_el médico – the doctor (SP)_

_ozür dilerim – I am sorry_

_dinlen – relax_


	19. Roots ch 19 Arrival

**Kostantiniyye**

**1500**

Seref hummed quietly to herself, sitting at the window of her small but comfortable Istanbul apartment. Despite the earliness of the hour, she was wide awake. Her eyes lingered on the silhouettes of the Assassins practicing their skills near Galata Tower. She searched, but Yusuf's did not seem to be among them. Not that Yusuf was much of a trainer himself, nowadays. Casimiro, Nasim and her own former apprentice, Shahin, took it upon themselves to teach the newcomers. As she squinted, she could make out the form of Nasim, her robes flying out around her as she performed a perfect example of a hook and run. Seref was happy Nasim had finally returned back to her old self, following her teacher's murder. It had taken Seref days to break through the cold, numb shell that had encased the stricken girl, but her patience had won out in the end. Although Nasim continued to pay her respects by visiting Bajram's grave from time to time, she was spending more time with her friends and fellow Assassins, which was the best that Seref could have hoped for.

Yusuf, though… Five months might have passed since Bajram's death, but Seref remained unable to break through the leader of the Assassin's own hardened exterior. Days after the attack, just as it was certain that Jin was going to survive and had only begun to recover, Yusuf had Seref quietly moved from the Assassin headquarters to a small, private apartment nearby. Even now, staring longingly from her front window, she could see the magnificent Galata Tower and, below that, the plaza often used by the Assassins for training purposes. Although she couldn't see the den, she knew it was around the corner – merely a few minute's walk away. In some ways it was a comfort, but in others, it served only as a reminder that she was no longer allowed home.

Seref sighed, resting her hands on her largely protruding belly. She missed her students. She missed Shahin. She missed her friends and fellow Assassins. Mostly, however, she missed Yusuf. With Bajram gone and Rafat far away in Jerusalem, the two of them were the only ones left of their original class. And far from sticking together, Yusuf had placed her here, on her own. He'd insisted that she would be safe, and although it hurt to leave her, she would be better protected from any such further attacks against the Assassins.

Seref understood his reasoning. In fact, she agreed with it. But it didn't make the loneliness any easier to bear. Shahin stopped by periodically to make sure she was doing well; more often in the last couple of weeks, seeing as she was getting closer and closer to giving birth. Seref looked forward to his company, but more than anything, she wanted to see Yusuf again. He'd visited her only a few times since he'd placed her here months ago.

"For your own protection." He'd assured her, brushing her hair fondly. "I will be watching out for you."

Seref felt a gentle kick in her stomach, and beamed down at her extended belly. True, this baby was the reason she had to leave the Assassins. But how could she ever bring herself to regret Yusuf's child? She couldn't. She wouldn't. Perhaps they wouldn't be a perfect family, but it was something.

One kick became two. Then three. Seref groaned softly and eased herself back into a sit, resting her hand on her stomach. The coming baby was antsy, today. Robust. Seref hoped that pointed to a healthy child.

She reclined back, eyes drifting up toward the ceiling before closing. A second later, she flinched, and emitted a loud, pained cry. This was not normal. None of this was normal.

The soon-to-be mother climbed back to her feet, albeit with difficulty. Holding her stomach, she made her way to the door, throwing it open. The entire plaza heard her pained shout.

"Please! _Birisi bana yardim etsin!_"

Yusuf grinned up at the pretty girl's – no, the _güzel kadın_ – face above him. He relaxed further, his head cushioned by her warm lap. Let it never be said that Silki did not know how to ease a man's worried soul.

"This is the third time this week, _sevgilim_." The auburn-haired beauty murmured, lightly brushing dark hair from his eyes. Even as she chided him, she continued to lightly stroke his face. Yusuf, he could have sworn he had died and gone to _Cennet_.

"Something is bothering you."

Over the last few years, Yusuf had come to realize that lying to Silki was of little use. He reluctantly opened his eyes, his ocean-blue ones meeting her liquid brown ones.

"Seref is getting closer and closer to her child being born. I worry for her safety." He heard Silki give a breathy sigh above him and felt her shift.

"It's been five months since… But anything could happen, at any time."

"When is she expected to give birth?"

"Within the next couple weeks." The soothing motion against his face stopped.

"And you're here?" Yusuf felt Silki's warm, cozy thigh give way sharply, and the back of his head smacked painfully against the den floor.

"_Neler oluyor_, Silki! What was that for?" He growled.

"You should be with the mother of your child, _salak_." She replied hotly. "Not here." She stood, offering the Turk her hand, and after deciding that she wasn't going to smack him with it, Yusuf took it and tugged himself to his feet. He brushed himself off, his head hanging shamefully.

"...you are right."

"_Evet_. I am."

Yusuf chuckled warily. He supposed he deserved such a wake-up call.

"Thank you, Silki. I...needed that."

She smiled, briefly wrapping her arms around his neck in a tender hug. She kissed his temple briefly before murmuring sweetly in his ear.

"And don't let me _ever_ catch you doing something so stupid, again. _Evet?_"

It didn't take a genius to realize that something was very, very wrong. Yusuf picked up his speed, breaking into a hasty jog, then an all-out sprint. There were several Assassins milling about outside Seref's apartment. This was no visit...Yusuf had left specific instructions that no more than two Assassins were to visit her at one time. Anymore, and she could draw unwanted attention.

Now there were at least four, and perhaps more inside. Yusuf caught up with the group lingering around outside, out of breath. A recent recruit – Meryum, a young girl from the southern half of the city – turned and opened her mouth to welcome him. But the Turkish leader cut her off abruptly.

"What is happening? Is Seref alright? Has she been attacked? Are there Templars – "

"_Maestro!_" Casimiro wore an amused grin, interrupting his near-panicking teacher. "_Relajarse_. Seref is going to be fine."

"She is _going_ to be fine?"

Casi's grin did not fade. Yusuf curled his lip in annoyance. He did not appreciate being the only one that had no clue what was going on. He crossed his arms over his chest, decidedly _un_amused.

"Then by all means, Casi – explain."

"I think you should see for yourself." He replied smoothly, stepping aside. Yusuf blinked, his anger dissipating. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. He followed Casimiro's lead, entering the building's darkened interior.

"This way." Casimiro motioned to the hallway, and Yusuf obliged, leading the way.

"If anything has happened to her, and you kept me waiting when I could have been – " He halted mid-threat, his eyes growing large with disbelief. He blanched. Lying in her bed, Seref beamed at him proudly from across the bedroom, grasping a squalling infant in her arms. Blood stained the sheets near her legs, and a midwife was busy tending to the clean up. But Seref paid her no mind – in her world, it was only herself, Yusuf, and her new son.

"Come here, Yusuf. Say hello."

The Turk realized he was gaping, and suddenly found his voice. At least part of it.

"I didn't…I mean I couldn't… I'm so sorry…."

"_Saçmalık_." She waved him off. "Get over here. Your son would like to meet you."

Yusuf swallowed, making his way over to Seref's bedside. He was only dimly aware of Casi motioning to the midwife, and the two of them subsequently leaving the two to themselves. He knelt down beside Seref, staring first at the whimpering child, then his long-time friend and fellow Assassin.

".._he's_...?"

Seref nodded, and smiled.

"And you're sure you're alright?"

"Yusuf, there has never been a time where I have been happier then I am now."

He nodded faintly. His knees felt weak. He could never have guessed that the presence of a single child could have such an effect on him. It humbled the Ottoman.

Seref shifted the tiny baby in her arms, prompting yet another pathetic wail from the miniature human. Yusuf couldn't help but grin, but it quickly vanished when Seref offered her son to him.

"It's alright." She assured. "I promise he does not bite. Yet."

"He's so small..." Yusuf murmured. "You act as though this is just something that happens every day."

"It does happen every day, _canim_."

"You know what I mean."

"Here." She leaned over, sliding the infant into the arms of his waiting father. Yusuf stared down at the tiny pink thing in bewilderment, noting each tiny finger, each tiny toe, and an assortment of other such features. Everything seemed to be properly intact.

"..._şaşırtıcı_..."

"He is ours, Yusuf."

"I am so sorry I wasn't here, Seref." He whispered.

"You are now." She settled back against her pillows, exhausted from delivery. Yusuf peered at her over the wriggling child, giving an amused chuckle.

"Already, he does not want to sit still!"

"He is already reminding me of his dad." Seref noted tiredly. Yusuf grinned, cradling the little boy's head. The child interrupted his own struggles with a deep yawn, his tiny eyes blinking sleepily. Yusuf noted how astonishingly blue they were.

"We will have to name him, Yusuf..."

"I know." He savored his hold on the tiny, warm little body in his arms. He was an Assassin, and yet he had everything that any normal man would want. A woman who loved him. A newborn son. It wasn't the life he would have chosen, but he knew one person who had never wanted anything else more.

Yusuf cleared his throat.

"Seref…could we?…"

She nodded, eyes drifting back to her baby. She smiled appropriately. She liked the idea. "Of course… It suits him."

Yusuf tilted his head, staring intently at his son. He brushed his thumb across the little pink forehead, through a surprisingly thick forest of dark curls.

"Welcome to Kostantiniyye, Baj."

_birisi bana yardim etsin_ _– someone help me_

_güzel kadın – beautiful woman_

_sevgilim – darling_

_Cennet – Turkish concept of Heaven_

_neler oluyor – what the Hell_

_salak – you idiot_

_relajarse – relax (SP) _

_saçmalık – nonsense_

_canim_ _– dear_

_şaşırtıcı – amazing_


	20. Roots ch 20 My Son

****_Please enjoy the last chapter of Roots :) Thank you so much for reading my ridiculously long story. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.  
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_Thanks again,  
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_Kovi  
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**Kostantiniyye**

**1511**

Yusuf Tazim groaned and rubbed the back of his hand against his tired eyes. He was by no means an elderly man, although to most of the twenty-somethings he spent so much time teaching, forty years must be positively ancient.

The Assassin set down his quill and took a moment to stare at the parchment that lay before him across the desk of his old Mentor. He then let himself give into the powerful urge to stretch, after having been hunched over a desk for so long his shoulders arched.

_Evet_. That should do.

"_Maestro?_"

Yusuf smiled and rested his arm over the back of the seat, shooting a glance at his accomplished apprentice.

"_Içeriye gel_, Casi. I'm just finishing." He heard the door gently creak open. And the sound of his long-time student taking a slow breath. But then there was nothing but silence.

His apprentice was far too easy to read.

"Well – out with it! I'm certainly not getting any – " Yusuf spun around off his chair, but his beaming smile faded just as quickly as it had sprung up. Casimiro grinned weakly, rubbing the back of his head, fingertips raking through thick hair the color of cocoa beans. Yusuf emitted a sigh, shoulders drooping.

"It's my son." He didn't even need to ask. He loved the boy dearly, but he was getting to be more of a handful for his poor mother than Yusuf ever dreamed possible.

"_Si_." Casimiro confirmed with a weak laugh. "Eh, _Maestro_…go easy on the boy." Yusuf snorted, taking long strides over to the door that led from his chamber into the main corridor that ran the length of the Assassin den.

"Little you know." He grumbled darkly, furrowing his brow and shaking his head in dismay. "It's the boy's _mother_ he has to be afraid of."

"So. What was it this time, Baj?" Yusuf walked side-by-side with his son. Eleven years ago, he could not have imagined that this was where he would be today. He'd never imagined having a family – albeit, one that had to live in secrecy. That had been Bajram's dream. But now Seref and Baj were Yusuf's responsibility. And he loved no other soul more than the boy he now strode beside.

Baj's face was a mixture of anger and frustration. He'd been caught once more scaling the walls of the apartments surrounding his own, as well as the vender stalls in the marketplace. Yusuf would have found his interest in rooftop acrobatics amusing, if it wasn't so dangerous. And he could already guess what all this acting out was more or less about. Himself.

"How come you're never at home? _Anne_ says that you work a lot. But there's more than that, isn't there." The boy didn't even phrase it as a question. Yusuf chuckled quietly. The kid was smart and insightful. Forever serious. He was more like Yusuf's old friend then like his father, that was for sure. And he deserved to be spoken to as an adult.

"Baj, your mother is right. I do work a lot. But…you're also right, as well." He paused, bending down to the boy's height.

"She has told you that I work with the Assassins, no?"

Baj nodded. "She says you help protect the city from the bad men."

"_Evet_ – I do. And it is work that keeps me very busy."

"But papa…why can't you be home more often?"

Yusuf gave a tired sigh and rubbed his temples. It was the very question he asked himself day in and day out. And from years of asking such a question, he had what had to seem to the boy like a very unsubstantial answer.

"Because my staying away is what helps to keep you safe, Baj." He tilted the boy's chin upward, looking at him with serious eyes.

"The many enemies of the Assassins would like nothing better than to hunt me down. If they ever succeed, and they find out about you or your mother, they would go after you as well." This was a heavy burden he was placing on the shoulders of his very young son. Yusuf knew Assassins whose families lived in constant fear of being discovered. Yusuf never wanted that for Seref and Baj. Although maybe it was time that he shared more with the boy then what he'd been willing to thus far. Again, Baj deserved the truth.

The eleven-year-old appeared to consider this.

"Will you protect us?"

Yusuf blinked, than grasped both his son's shoulders.

"I would die for you, Baj. And your mother. Even if you grow to resent me for not being there for you, know that."

Baj stared at his father for a long time, before lifting the corner of his mouth into a tiny smile. He looked so much like his namesake that, if he had not otherwise known better, Yusuf himself would begin to question the child's parentage.

"_Biliyorum_, papa. I know."

Yusuf spent the rest of the afternoon with his boy, making up for what had to be months of lost time. He even took him up to one of the lower rooftops in a safe area of town, and the two sat with their legs dangling over the side for hours. They talked of Baj's mother, of Yusuf himself, of the Assassins, their enemies and the history of both. Yusuf even told his son about his old friends, Rafat, and of course, Bajram. He was surprised at how little he had apparently told him before. Although he'd spent time with Baj in the past, it felt as though walls had been torn down this afternoon, and the forty-year-old Assassin felt more at peace with himself then he had in years.

Now, however, the sun was beginning to set. Yusuf helped his highly reluctant son off the overhang, and escorted him back to the apartment he shared with Seref. He smiled upon seeing her again, and blinked in surprise when she threw her arms around his neck before thrusting a cup of warm tea into his hands. He supposed…it wouldn't hurt to stay for a _few_ minutes.

"We have missed you very much." Seref told him after she'd seen Baj off to bed, the gentle rebuke clear in her tone. He smiled sheepishly, setting down his half-finished cup.

"I know. And I am sorry, Seref. You know how it is."

She lowered her eyes, staring down at her hands resting in her lap. "I do. And I still miss that life. More then I think any one knows."

She smiled, feeling his calloused palm rest against her cheek, before drifting down to tilt her chin upwards. Her dark brown eyes met his astonishingly blue ones.

"I know not what you're going through, Seref. But I do understand. This work…it's difficult. No one can deny that. But some people…me, you…Bajram… We were born for it. It's the life we will continue to return to, again and again." The corners of his lips lifted into his own good-natured smile.

"You will come back to it one day, Seref. Of that, I have no doubt."

Yusuf returned home particularly late, that night. After talking with Seref for another two hours, he slipped into Baj's bedroom to see him one more time before he left. As badly as he did want to spend more time with his son then he'd been able to so far, the sad reality of his occupation meant it'd likely be another several weeks before he was able to see either him or Seref once more.

In fact, if everything went according to plan, Yusuf would be rather busy in the coming month.

"_Iyi uykular_." He informed the sleeping child, lightly brushing several strands of jet-black hair from his forehead. He chuckled softly, watching the boy. All that he had missed... Yusuf knew in his heart that he'd never be able to truly make up for lost time. Not the way he'd like to. And that sad reality was like a knife through the heart.

"_Seni seviyorum_, Baj." He whispered, lightly kissing the boy's head, before leaving.

"A message has arrived for you while you were away."

Yusuf didn't expect too many of his colleagues to be awake at this hour. But there Nasim was, waiting up for him and waving a sealed letter like a white flag. He chuckled and snatched it from her grasp, shooting her the most scalding look he could muster as he broke the seal and unfolded it. The sound of her laugh fading as she exited the main living areas via the long bedroom corridor proved just how badly he'd failed, in that respect.

Yusuf considered leaving the letter on his office desk on the way to his quarters, but curiosity over-took him. He peered down at the opened letter, blue eyes scanning the well-worn page. He blinked, and reread the script. This was…unexpected. But not bad news. Not bad news, at all.

Yusuf crossed the threshold into his chamber, setting the letter down on the nightstand. Yawning, and planning on letting himself sleep in relatively late the next day, he disrobed and slid into his comfortable cot.

A good night's rest would do him some good. It wouldn't do for him to be out of sorts when the Mentor of the Assassins, Ezio Auditore himself, arrived.

_içeriye gel_ _– come in_

_anne – mother_

_biliyorum – I know_

_iyi uykular__ – sleep well_

_seni seviyorum – I love you_


	21. Epilogue

**Kostantiniyye**

**1512**

Seref sat down heavily on the solid marble bench that marked the entryway to the Turkish cemetery. She rested her hands in her lap and let her eyes settle, unfocused, on the simple stone structure that served as the marker for the man she had loved and lost.

_Our Guardian in times of War. _

_Our Teacher in times of Peace. _

_Beloved Always. Never Forgotten. _

No name. No year. The Assassins couldn't risk Byzantine sympathizers vandalizing the grave. But it was as good an epitaph as any, for a man who gave everything he had to his Order. It was better than most Assassins received.

Baj sat on the rocks near his mother's feet. Of course, he had long since been old enough to understand the concept of death. To know that his father was never going to come home again, like he'd promised. Seref wasn't sure if it had completely sunk in yet, however. Perhaps it hadn't for her, either. All she felt was a constant dull ache in her chest. Even her tears had dried up two days ago.

He was gone. Yusuf Tazim was really gone.

The memory of her finding out was a searing pain in her heart. She'd eagerly opened the door to her apartment, only to find a tired and haggard-looking Casimiro. Her heart suddenly dropped like a stone, even before she asked. Her mouth couldn't form words. Her throat ignored her desperate attempts to make sounds. Her eyes wildly searched Casi's for something – anything – to let her know that everything was alright. But he could not provide her any comfort.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Seref…" He whispered, his own eyes filled with pain. Seref let out a strangled whimper and leaned heavily against the wooden door frame. Numb, and only dimly aware of Casi's continued presence, she didn't even notice him gently pry her off the side of the apartment and lead her back inside. She felt nothing until he sat her down in her tiny living room, and grasped her hand in his.

The next half-hour was the most painful of her life, as he recounted what he could about Yusuf's death. He assured her that Yusuf had died honorably, protecting a Venetian woman named Sofia, who happened to mean very much to the Mentor of the Order, Ezio Auditore. That Prince Ahmet had been behind the attack, but had already been taken care of by his brother, Selim. Seref sat in silence, save for the strangled sobs that forced their way from her throat. She heard Casi's words, but comprehended little.

Yusuf was gone. He'd been murdered by the Byzantines. She hadn't even been able to assist in his burial, since time had been of the essence. Her heart felt as though it were being ripped violently apart.

"Where….?" She croaked at last, hardly trusting herself to speak any further. Casi settled his pained eyes on hers, his hand at her arm.

"Here in Galata. Next to the tower, across from the Den." He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I can take you there."

She'd visited the quiet cemetery twice more in the following week. She'd linger for hours, sitting on the bench across from his grave and listening to the sounds of both wind and birds in the trees. This was the first time she'd brought Baj along with her, however. The boy hadn't spoken much since he'd found out about his father, and Seref figured it was up to her to see him through this.

But who was there to see _her_ through such pain? The two had been scrapping by thanks to Yusuf's continual financial aid and protection. She knew only a few of the others, Casi and Nasim among them. The others – Bajram, Rafat, Pembe – were long gone.

She sighed, dropping her tired shoulders. A bemoaned whimpering drew her attention, and she discovered a worn-looking woman huddled near the corner of the cemetery, eyes on the same marker that Seref had been staring at seconds ago. Seref straightened, puzzled and momentarily displaced from her grief.

"_Bayan?_ Can I help?..." The only response she received was another pained sigh, and a muffled sob. Seref shifted to rise to her feet, but a steady hand settled on her shoulder. Out the corner of her eye, she saw her son staring up at the darkened silhouette of a slightly hunched figure. She turned her head and gave a tiny smile.

"It's been a long time, Jin."

The Chinese Assassin bowed his head in respect. "It would appear as though I am not the only one who likes this spot." He said slowly, a calm smile forming on his own face. He shuffled further into view, and Seref remembered how painful it could be for him to move around. The incident that took place over ten years ago had taken its toll heavier then they'd initially realized. Jin would walk with a severe limp for the rest of his life.

He carefully sat down beside her, placing the cane he often used off to the side. He stretched out his back for a moment before letting out a tired breath and leaning back against the wrought iron fence surrounding the cemetery. His eyes fell on the grave, which lay just beyond that of Bajram, and he smiled sadly.

"Two old friends." He murmured affectionately. Seref smiled in return, but remembering the look of the haggard woman, she returned her eyes to the corner of the yard.

The mysterious woman was gone. Nothing but a few displaced leaves even marked that she was there. Seref furrowed her brow, puzzled.

"Where did she…"

"You mean Anayis?"

Seref caught her breath. She swiveled her head back around to face Jin, eyes sharp.

"_Anayis?_"

The ever-stoic Chinese nodded solemnly in return. A calm breeze ruffled his cloak and Seref's hair as he tilted his head back, face relaxing in the sun.

"I see her here from time to time. Everyone wants to pay their respects, Seref."

"But she was ousted from the Order years ago." Seref glared at where the mysterious girl had been sitting only moments before.

"Why would she return here?"

"Perhaps she misses Yusuf as well, Seref." Came the quiet response. Seref felt her newly flared temper begin to diminish.

"…you are probably right." She said at last, feeling somewhat conflicted. Anayis betrayed the Assassins, an act which resulted in Bajram's death, twelve years ago. While Saraf would forever support Yusuf's decision to ban her from the Order, perhaps a decade was enough time to forgive.

Seref sighed and joined Jin in leaning back against the warm, sun-soaked marble bench. She let her eyes wander over the scattered dried flowers dusting the grave, drift up the solid stone grave marker, travel over the low tree covered with colorful pink blossoms that rested at the head of the grave, and finally into the brilliantly blue Istanbul sky. Far away, a hawk emitted a fierce screech.

A fine tribute, to a fine Assassin.

_Yusuf Tazim_

_1467-1512_


End file.
